yesterday ended last night

"Mommy, I'm hungry!"

"Mommy" sighs. Wiping hands smudged with pencil lead on worn jeans, she glances into the hallway for her toddler. Alissa looks fine for now, she thinks with a quick glance at the clock.

But it is time for a diaper change and a meal. So "Mommy" stands up, reaching over for a diaper on the bed next to her.

"Alissa, diaper!" she calls. A part of her stoic expression cracks a bit, revealing something warm inside as she hears her daughter begin to bemoan about her seething hatred for diaper-changing. But at last, she sees a small figure stumble down the hallway and pour into her room.

She realizes how dark it is and flicks on the light. It blinds her for a second.

She picks up the toddler. "Baby, have you been good today?"

Alissa nods vigorously, squirming in her mother's grasp. "I want food!"

The mother nods. "If you stay still, then maybe we can have dessert tonight."

Knowing that she's won, Alissa immediately stills in her hold. The mother changes the diapers, remembering how much she'd hated it at first—besides, it's waste and diaper fluff mixed into one revolting amalgamation. But she'd gotten used to it.

Nevertheless, her nose scrunches as she wraps the used diaper into itself and set it aside for disposal. She wraps her daughter in a clean one and kisses her baby's head.

"Okay, okay," the mother giggles as Alissa begins to squirm again. "Dinner time."

"Dessert?" Alissa brings up hopefully.

With a pang of realization, the mother registers once again that even if pay-day hadn't come yet and even if her child's father only comes home late at night and even if she can't provide her child with enough love because of school—she'd do anything for Alissa.

And in this case, it's dessert.

(If she has to sacrifice her secret ice cream and junk food stash saved for her emotional existential-questioning sessions at three in the morning for a smile of her child, then so be it.)

Once done with changing, the mother carries both the toddler and the dirty diaper pack in her arms to the kitchen. She turns on the lights and hums a light melody as she works to manhandle Alissa into her high-chair.

"Mommy. Dessert first?" Alissa asks, all settled. Currently, she's playing with the straps on the side.

"No," the mother says firmly yet unkindly. "Eat your food first. It's banana. And not that much."

"Banana's boring!" whines Alissa, now upset.

The mother frowns. "If you don't eat your food, I can't give you dessert."

There's a pause—and to her immense surprise, Alissa stills.

"If you eat your food, you can have ice cream," the mother supplies. Alissa goes back to eating obediently, and the mother feels a weight being lifted off her chest, albeit temporarily. She has finals, a part-time job, and a four year old to manage. A temper tantrum, she decides, is not going to make the list. Not today.

Retreating to her room, she grabs a textbook and her notes and returns to the living room to sit next to her daughter. The notes are blotted with neon yellow from highlighter and her textbook is overflowing with post-its from the other night, she notices belatedly. That's a lot to study.

"Mommy, I'm done," Alissa announces proudly, holding her cup out triumphantly as if it were a trophy cup.

"Good girl," the mother purrs, taking the plastic cup. "I'll get you an ice cream bar."

Alissa squeals and cheers in her seat, overjoyed at the thought of something unfamiliar. The mother grins.

The mother opens her refrigerator door: it's mostly empty, shelves bare and freezer void—excluding some condiments and a few vegetables—as she rummages around for an ice cream bar. After some searching, she victoriously beholds to her daughter an ice cream bar.

Alissa is waiting patiently at the dinner table. Her stubby fingers now dance along the hem of her shirt sleeve, picking at something that she had gotten on it from earlier. When her mother's sounding footsteps reach her ears, she looks up.

"Ice cream?" she asks. Damn, the mother thinks, impressed with the memory span of her daughter.

"Wait, baby, we have to let it sit for a second," she says, already returning to scribbling something out on her notebook. Alissa groans, and the mother softly chides her for being impatient.

After five very long minutes of hard stares and fidgeting, the mother stands up, disappearing into the kitchen. A few seconds later, she reappears with the same ice cream bar.

"Here you go, Alissa," the mother says, feeling her heart jump a beat; although she has gotten used to having a daughter around to occupy her time all day, the prospect of her daughter being excited makes her heart beat with anticipation. "Don't eat too quickly."

The toddler barely registers her mother's words, instead diving into the soft white of the ice cream bar. It's a sight to see: ice cream is already dribbling down the girl's chin, hair askew and smile bright.

"Do you like it?" the mother asks, and the toddler nods enthusiastically.

"I love ice cream."

The doorbell rings, and a knock on the door sounds across the room. The mother looks up tiredly from the bright, tempting screen of her phone, and stands up to answer it.

"Max," she says. "You're home."

The man smiles, stepping into the room. "How was Alissa?"

The mother collapses and sinks into the couch, running a hand through her hair in exhaustion. "Same as usual. A handful."

Max looks sympathetic. After sliding his coat off and stepping out of his shoes, he takes a seat on the couch as well.

"I'll try to come earlier tomorrow. But you know my boss."

Rubbing circles into the palm of her hand, he asks, "Studying for finals?"

She nods. "And then I'll be done in a few more weeks. Finally, like you."

Max smiles. "It'll be worth the wait," he says. "Everything will be just fine, Annie."

Annie sighs, sounding fatigued with a hint of contentment, and closes her eyes.