GUILT

GUILT. This five letter word is a fixture in my life. It wreaks havoc on my day, is the source of countless sleepless nights, a multitude of migraines and is a constant companion when I want nothing more than to be left alone for a few moments of sweet solitude.

I just don’t get it. Why can’t I learn to give up the guilt? Like so many moms out there, my day is spent taking care of the needs and whims of those I care about most. Between my family, friends and career, there isn’t a moment to spare, so why do I feel like I should always be doing more?

Today, I’m guilt ridden for taking a sick day from work. After a week of sleepless nights, holding my children as they puked their guts up, comforting them and changing countless soiled sheets at 3am, I too have succumbed to the dreaded puking virus. I tossed and turned all night and did my best frat party impersonation as I got intimate with my toilet bowl (Thank goodness my toilet is a hell of a lot cleaner than the frat house toilets I remember). I was still planning on getting dressed and dragging my ghastly green complexion to the office up until about 5:30 am when my guilty conscious jumped in with yet another dilemma – What if I’m contagious and I get everyone else in the office sick? Now that’s a guilt trip I just couldn’t handle. So, instead I called in at 6:46 am – not because I didn’t feel guilty about missing a day at work – only because I’d feel more guilty if I passed on the puking virus.

But, as bad as work guilt is, that’s nothing compared to parenting guilt. As a working mother we’re constantly juggling rings of fire – and guess what – those rings hurt like **&&***& when we find ourselves slightly off our game.

I want nothing more than to be there for my children – all the time for anything they need. But, since I work, it’s just not possible. My husband and I divide and conquer – well some times we just divide and cover our asses. Last week was particularly hellish. My Christiana Kindergartner had her first class trip of the year – to some stinky old farm that grosses out the parents but the kids love to visit. Why, she asked...why couldn’t I take the day off from work so I could take her to the farm? Now, how do you explain to your precious child that Mommy can’t take another day of since she took time off for the Fall carnival, ran out of the office like a bat out of hell to make it home for Trick or Treating, ditched an important meeting to make it home in time to get you your flu shot and needs to save up her days so she can be front and center for the Christmas pageant. No, all that really matters in the moment is that those big green eyes are looking up at me and I can’t be there when she wants me to. Then, there are the other moments, the small, everyday moments of mommy-hood that send the guilt guillotine crashing down on us. Moments like when you’re putting your children to sleep and they ask if you can stay home with them tomorrow, or when they ask why you have to go to work when Ryan’s mommy gets to stay home and pick him up from school everyday. It’s enough to make a grown woman cry.

Then there’s the wife guilt. Now, I know how lucky I am, Dave is an amazing father who does absolutely everything he can to help with the kids and the house. So many times I tell myself I need to make more of an effort - I’d love to surprise him, have him walk in from work one day and find a femme fatale waiting for him instead of a fatigued, frenzied and frazzled working mom, hunched over her lap top, lapping up a glass of chianti and stressing about the to-do list that still hasn’t gotten done. But after running my marathon of a day, I hate to admit it – but sweats win over stilettos every single night.

Yes, I am a working mother, split into a million guilty little pieces – GUILTY AS CHARGED.