You can't have everything.

You can't have everything, baby.

I couldn't have you. I couldn't have every first step, every waking breath.

I couldn't take you to the park when Spring arrived, or kiss you on the cheek the first time you fell down.

Just a few hours a day, and then weekends and holidays. We'll take you to the beach for a week during the summer, just long enough to get close so that we can send you back again.

If I'm a full time lawyer, does that make me a part-time mom?

I just don't know, baby. I don't know what to do. I want to make you proud, but I don't want to lose you.

You can't get off the track, or you can't get on again. But what if that track leads me away from you?

I hope you'll understand - that you won't feel abandoned. That you won't commiserate with the other kids at after-school care about how your parents both work and left you there.

I hope you won't resent me about time and religion - we're already going to screw with you on that one.

Sometimes I hate the feminists, baby. Without them I'd just be one smart stay-at-home mom.