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“I know. I’m almost done,” I assured Lainey as she started to grumble and pull her little legs up against my stomach. “There,” I said when the playard was up and the two top sections were in place. “Alright. Hungry?” I asked, pulling my sweet little three-month-old out of the carrier and placing her in the playard. “Give me a minute, alright?” I said in the singsong voice she liked.

I grabbed the diaper bag and made my way into the bathroom to get the hot water running as I shook the scoop of formula into the bottle, pretending not to feel that familiar pang of regret that I didn’t get the chance to nurse.

The idea of nursing had been a small comfort when going through the absolute hellish fear and uncertainty of my pregnancy. If nothing else, I knew I would be able to feed my baby, no matter how much I was struggling financially.

Then, in the cruelest twist of fate, the milk never came in.

The lactation nurse had worked with me for days, trying to calm my fears and pretending not to notice my frustrated tears, until ultimately telling me that sometimes periods of extreme stress can mess up your body’s ability to create oxytocin, which is needed to help the milk release.

And, yeah, you could say from the ninth week when I knew I was pregnant to after I gave birth had been nothing but a never-ending panic attack or depression.

Hell, most days I was still fighting off the panic.

I was full of what-ifs and and-thens.

What ifI didn’t earn enough money one weekand thenwe couldn’t pay for a room?

What ifmy car broke downand thenI couldn’t do my work?

What ifmy phone brokeand thenI couldn’t take more jobs to make money?

It just went on and on and on.

I would just lie in bed, dead-tired, but unable to shut my brain off so I could fall asleep.

Even recognizing the pattern and trying to put an end to it—if for no other reason than babies could sense that kind of anxiety and my baby deserved a peaceful, regulated mother—often wouldn’t help me stay calm until my stomach was in so many knots that I found myself dry-heaving on my knees in the bathroom, stomach too empty to even produce any food most of the time.

I glanced up at the mirror, hardly recognizing my reflection anymore.

I had the same pale blonde hair. But these days, it wasn’t carefully styled to have that ‘effortless’ loose wave. It was always pulled back in a messy bun. The cleanliness of it? Questionable. The last time it saw a trim? Almost a year.

My blue eyes didn’t look as bright as they used to, thanks to the dark purple, seemingly permanent smudges under them.

Gone was that expertly applied makeup that I’d worn even just to go to the coffee shop in the past. The spray tan dates I’d been regular about? Done. My natural pale skin was on full display these days.

The fashionista I’d once been would curl her lip at my ever-present mom uniform of shorts and a tank or tee.

Looking away from myself, I filled the bottle, shook it up, then tested the temperature before going out to pick up my grumpy, grumbly baby.

“We’re gonna figure it out, right, baby?” I cooed at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, my body rocking to both soothe herandmyself.

It’s not like I had any choice in the matter. I was all she had in the world. I didn’t have the luxury of failure.

My phone dinged from the nightstand, and I gripped the bottle with the arm holding my daughter so I could reach to check my messages. There was no choice but to take a job whenever one came in. I was just barely scraping by, and I really needed to add some money to a savings account. For car issues, new clothes as Lainey grew, and—most important of all—medical care, since health insurance costs would gobble up everything I was making.

I’d managed to hold down a job until I went into labor, purely because I needed the coverage for the hospital fees. But since I couldn’t afford any sort of childcare, I needed to quit after I left the hospital.

But now, we were on our own. And the idea of any sort of basic illness, let alone something serious, filled me with dread. I wouldn’t even let myself think of hospital stays.

“Oh, we have a new doggy friend,” I told Lainey as I slowly typed out a reply to the message I’d gotten on my listing as a dog walker.

I was thankful every single day that technology had created so many new ways to make a living while also being able to bring my baby with me.

Was it great to have to?

No.

But it was helping us get by.