CNN's weekend anchor Carol Lin was hit hard by life. Here's how she kept going and growing.

Breaking news! This just in! Two-year-old Chloe slept in her big-girl bed all night long! This after eating a good dinner, including her vegetables." It's not progress in the Middle East or a Supreme Court nomination, but it's about as big as the news gets in my house.

As I write this, I see there's oatmeal smeared on the hip of my dress. I bought it in Paris on my way home from a month covering the aftermath of the NATO bombing in Kosovo. I look a little closer and make out the tiniest little handprint. Then I remember that shortly after Chloe was born, a cool guy friend of mine told me I had some dried cereal stuck to my pant leg. I told him I knew, but to take it off would mean I'd have to take action: rise off the floor, remove the offending yuck and spend energy to dispose of it. Easier to leave it stuck. You see, this exhausted journalist didn't know until just before giving birth that babies wake you up at all hours of the day and night.

I don't know about you, but I had never really thought about what it would be like to actually be a mom. My husband, Will, and I met during a presidential campaign, when he was a documentary producer and I was a novice reporter. We had been married ten years when we finally decided to take the parental plunge. When we did, I thought only about what a great dad he'd be. Me? I figured I'd be off gallivanting the globe for CNN. Six-week rotation in Pakistan? No problem! Call a sitter! I've got a plane to catch!

Chloe was just 20 months old when she earnestly asked me: "Daddy. What happened?" I thought I would have more time to face the question, that she'd be older. But from the moment she was born, I promised I would always be straight with her. And I was.

"Daddy got something called cancer, Chloe." I never use the word sick. "Daddy died." I got the words out in a matter-of-fact way. Good job!

"Died?" Chloe said, her little mouth shaping this new word.

"Yes, he's in heaven," I replied, so glad that I was driving at the time, but glancing in the rearview mirror to watch her absorbing this new information.

Will and I learned we were pregnant just as the world learned that the United States would soon go to war with Iraq.

All my competitive instincts, honed over nearly 20 years in broadcast news, told me my career as I had envisioned it was probably over. But Will saw only the new love in our life and a chance to finally stop moving every two years. "Don't worry, honey, I'll stay home with the baby." He was my better half in every way.

When Will died, I thought my life would end, too. And in a way it did--because it completely changed. There was this little 3-month-old baby. My next big story: truly becoming a mom to her.

The weeks after Will passed away were utterly surreal. There we were, back in Los Angeles with my family and close friends. There I was, belting out "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" and joining mom-and-baby gatherings. That is, until the class leader asked the icebreaker question: "What's the hardest thing you've dealt with since your child's birth?" Arrgh. That was awful!

That's when I started thinking about returning to work. CNN was so patient and supportive, but I'd been away six months. My gut instinct said don't go back! Why would I leave my family and friends? But I knew someday Chloe would ask about those early days. What would I tell her? That I quit?

I once worked with an investigative producer who would literally shoot video footage first and ask what the story was about later. He believed television news was about pictures first. If you don't have the pictures, you don't have the story. So—I know this sounds strange—I got through the early days by creating a picture of the life I'd want to describe to my daughter someday. I'd want to tell her that I went back to work even though I was heartbroken, because life is precious and time is a gift. I'd want to tell her, "No matter what happens, don't give up, Chloe. You can still dream." I've been a journalist for 20 years, and I've heard every pitch imaginable. But try spinning Daddy, cancer and heaven as ... well, not a good thing, but a part-of-life thing. I always, always answer Chloe's questions about her dad. Being her mom means giving her the gift of knowing how smart, cute and funny Will was.

Being her mom also means accepting the days and nights when Chloe's sick or sleepless. But sometimes I'm so tired, I could cry. What gets me through the hard days? Other moms, especially mine, and friends and even total strangers at the park who laugh with me about the hilarious business of raising a child. And the funny moments—like when Chloe proudly announces at the sandbox, "My daddy's in heaven!" The other kids just figure he's traveling, but the parents are speechless. Our society is so uncomfortable with death. I can laugh because she's only repeating what I believe is true.

Some might call me a "single mom." But that's an inaccurate label. I mean, babies don't just appear out of the blue! How about Power Mom? Or Double Mom? You get no break unless friends step in or you pay for a babysitter. I believe that deserves a special name.

Although two wonderful women help me from time to time, I'm a 100 percent hands-on mom. Plus, I'm terrible at hiring caregivers. One accidentally broke my cat's toe. Another asked to start at $75,000 a year. While I'm all for caregivers earning a meaningful wage, it just doesn't make sense for me to pay that much money to be away from my child.

My, how I've changed.

Chloe's and my life now is a patchwork of friends, work, preschool and frequent-flyer miles between Atlanta and Los Angeles and cities beyond. As a woman and a mom, I sometimes agonize over my choices. Don't you? But my child keeps me clear about what matters. Chloe is such a precocious, happy girl that when adults are tempted to feel sorry for her, I cut them short. I say, "She's the daughter of a wonderful man who loved her more than life."

I guess I'm here to say that we moms just do it. Whatever life brings us, working moms figure it out because we have to, because we want to. I didn't think I could do it—but I am doing it. I've postponed covering another war zone. My big adventure is right here.