Tillie Olsen, "I Stand Here Ironing"

"She was a miracle to me...but...I had to leave her daytimes with the woman...to whom she was no miracle at all."
"Let her be. So all that is in her will not bloom—but in how many does it? There is still enough left to live by. Only help her to believe—help make it so there is cause for her to believe that she is more than this dress on the ironing board, helpless before the iron."
--Tillie Olsen, "I Stand Here Ironing"

My mother sends me updates every day, because she can't be with me. She's fine--she sleeps, she eats, she plays dollies in the stroller and makes crafts--but she's so small.  So small, and though I've learned to be big, I'm not there to share my size. And I'm afraid she'll grow while I'm not there.
I'm fortunate to live in an age where being a working mother is more acceptable than it was fifty years ago, because I'm not strong enough to stay home.  In the comfort of home, I don't work hard.  My organizational skills and work ethic get weaker inside the doors of my home.  A stay-at-home me is a slovenly, sloppy, unhappy me.  When I'm working, I prioritize, I work harder; I'm happier because I have more experience outside the home and I feel like I'm milking life for all that it's worth.  Those sound like strengths until I have to wonder if my "strengths" will lead to my daughter's weaknesses.  Is it possible that she will feel a lack because I stopped breastfeeding when I went back to work? Will I be unable to govern her later if I'm not there to do it now? Will she resent me for doing what's best for me?
My mother worked my entire life, and I've always been proud of that; maybe, though, I was only taking on her views. She's proud of herself and so maybe I'm proud of her. (Maybe I'm so weak in judgment and opinion because I didn't have a stay-at-home mom; who can say?) I hope my daughter can be proud of me, but maybe she'll wistfully look at other stay-at-home moms and wonder what was important enough to be away from her.  Maybe that will ruin her.
I work for my mind. My job is physically and mentally exhausting.  I work to keep my mind fluid and flexible and inspired.  I'm ashamed to say that I also work for the money; I like things and foods and celebrations and vacations, and all those require money.  Would I give those up for my daughter? Maybe, if you told me that would being a room mother and being there every time she calls home from school would save her a lifetime of heartache.  If you told me staying at home guaranteed her happiness, I would live like a monk.  But who's to say that she won't also benefit from my work, my happiness, my experience and the example of me juggling my life? Who's to say I'm not better preparing her for a world we can't forsee now?
I go back and forth every day.  Every time I get a message from Mom, telling me what she's doing without me and I envision her sharing her Finn-ness with everyone but me (and I do envision her, vividly, every hour of every day) I cry a little and the debate starts again.  Leaving her is hard, and seeing her only in the evenings, her grumpy time, is unbearably hard.  I have yet to see the benefits. So the debate rages...who can say?