This morning as I dropped Thalia off in the preschool gym, she did something she hasn’t done…well, ever. She took off her jacket (as she always does) and put down her lunchbox (as she always does), she asked me to watch her run three laps (as she always does), and then as I hugged her goodbye, she clung to me desperately and wailed.

She begged me not to leave. Even as her friends tried to comfort her and the sweet boys in her class held her lunchbox for her. Even as one boy volunteered, “I’ll play with you today, Thalia!” She just stood there clinging to my legs and crying.

As I left her sobbing in the arms of her teacher, I wished so hard that I could just be 100% mom at this very moment. Not someone’s employee. Not someone’s creative director. Not someone’s writer or editor or strategist needing to solve all the pressing advertising issues of our day. Not someone dressed in work clothes with a MetroCard in hand and a to-do list a mile long.

Just a mom who could pick my four year-old daughter up in my arms, take her home and say, “Okay honey, let’s go home and be together. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

But that’s not all I am today. And there’s nothing I could do.