When I was pregnant with my third child, I was working full-time as a nurse, doing everything I could to prepare for the moment I’d meet my baby. I saved up every single bit of PTO from the moment I found out I was pregnant, holding on to those precious days like they were gold, knowing how important that time would be. But even though I was in the early stages of labor during my shifts, I was terrified to call in. I remember crying at work because I didn’t want to take a single day away from the time I thought I’d have with my newborn. I kept telling myself I could wait just a little longer.
A week after giving birth, I found out I had misunderstood my benefits. Instead of the three months I thought I’d have for maternity leave, I would only get four weeks. The weight of that news crushed me.
As the sole provider for my family, I knew I had no choice but to make it work. But I couldn’t help but mourn the time I had thought I would have with my last baby. I wasn’t ready to let go of those precious moments. Two weeks after giving birth, I started applying for jobs, searching for something that would allow me to be home more. And at just four weeks postpartum, I went back to work, bleeding-still physically recovering, still aching with the sadness of what I was losing. I can still feel the ache of that final night—the night before I returned to work.
With my first two children, I was consumed by fear and anxiety. I struggled with postpartum depression and didn’t remember much of their newborn stages. So many of those early days are just a blur of worry, a blur of trying to stay afloat. I longed for the chance to be more present, to fully enjoy those precious moments that go by so quickly. But with my third baby, everything was different. I had medical knowledge now, confidence I didn’t have before. I was finally able to experience the newborn phase with a sense of peace and joy that I didn’t know was possible. I cherished those quiet nights when it was just me and him, nursing him in the stillness, holding him close. This time, I didn’t feel like I was just surviving—I was actually living in those moments.
But even then, the reality hit me like a wave. As I held him, I couldn’t stop crying. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to those quiet, magical moments. I wanted to freeze time and hold on to him forever. I was grieving. Grieving the time I wouldn’t get to spend with him, grieving the moments that would pass too quickly—the first smiles, the sleepless nights, the way his little hand fit so perfectly in mine. And it hurt knowing that someone else would get to experience those milestones, and I wouldn’t. It broke my heart.
No parent should have to face that kind of choice—between going back to work and missing out on these precious moments with their baby. Yet in Kansas, 79% of working parents don’t have access to paid maternity leave. That means so many parents are forced to choose between staying home with their newborns or returning to work to provide for their families. It’s an impossible choice that no one should have to make. That’s why I am so proud to see Kansas taking steps to advocate for paid maternity leave. Paid leave isn’t just a policy—it’s a lifeline. It’s an investment in the health of mothers and babies, and it strengthens families and communities. Every family deserves the time they need to bond, heal, and care for their child without the burden of choosing between a paycheck and a moment that can never be recaptured.
Brittany Frishman
Iola, Kansas