Oh, what money can buy.

Most of my friends would be shocked to hear me say that about money. but right now, I am glowing with the money. Because I now have a nanny. A fantastic nanny. A woman who I also like as a friend. A care giver who thrills my daughter when she arrives each day. A mom herself whose daughter the same age as Sarah comes with her each day to our apartment. A woman I trust and who has made a commitment to us. A helper who will stay.

I feel like I have been released from a tar pit, a primeval morass of blackness pulling on my flesh, my bones, my heart. Last semester, I could feel it thoughout the day, sapping my energy and strength. I feared its depths, its hold on me. Now it is gone. I have a nanny.

Don't get me wrong. Last semester wasn't as bad as it could be, I know. Fortunately, my work in the academy is such that I can take some of it home. Like doctors and lawyers, professors don't do the bulk of their work sitting in their offices. Their work happens elsewhere. The offices are just convenient meeting places for seeing students and colleagues. So, ultimately, I can have more time with my daughter than most full-time working mothers who are chained to a desk nine to five. And, also fortunately, the preschool that Sarah attended last semester was the best of the best. I know I was lucky compared to other single mothers even last semester. Even amid the tar pit.

But I still had to leave my daughter for 5-6 hours a day in group care, and that kind of care, no matter how good, comes with problems.

Then, I watched good teachers spread themselves too thin. Now, I know that Sarah will get specialized attention, will eat when she needs to eat, will sleep when she is ready, will not be forced to anyone else's schedule because of numbers.

Then, I saw favorite teachers leave the school as they moved on to other jobs. In addition, Sarah's care givers would change throughout the day, sometimes to people neither she nor I had ever met before. Now Sarah has consistency: she is with the same care giver each day, every day. She can count on that.

Then, most days I would leave Sarah crying. Now, when I leave to go to work, Sarah smiles, hugs me, and turns back to play with her new friend. I go with a light step. Nothing holds my feet to the ground. I have escaped the tar pit of guilt and walk freely to class. Because I know my daugther is happy. And THAT is worth any amount of money.

Other mother friends have said, "How do you afford it?" All I can think is " How can I not?" Yes, I won't be able to buy the things I might have bought, or travel where I might have wanted to travel, and I will need to pinch pennies. But I am buying something far more worthwhile each time I pay my friend the nanny: freedom from black ooze between my toes and in my heart.