At this very moment, I am being plagued by a most unkind bug. This bug I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, yet I know there are moms out there who struggle against this very same creature daily, maybe even hourly, and sad to say, there is no magical cure that can be bought from the pharmacy to "cure all your mommy blues symptoms."
Guilt. Not a friend of those with rigid morals, sensitive consciences, or children. Why do I, as a mom, feel guilty? I am doting, attentive, and aware of my son's needs 24 hours a day. I can read his moods as if they were tattooed on his forehead. I know what foods he likes, what his favorite nursery rhymes are, and that anything done outdoors will make him happy. His naptime and bedtime are strict and his daily routine structured; he is one of the happiest, most well-adjusted children out there. He gets unconditional love from his parents, discipline when its needed, and positive reinforcement almost continuously. He is healthy and extremely affectionate. I couldn't ask for more.
So why do I feel guilty? I have no need to; I'm a working mom, a fact that was very much solidified during the year I stayed home with him. I enjoy working, I need to work to stay balanced, and really, I don't care what anyone has to say about that. I know myself, and I know that in order for me to be the best mom I can be, I need to have balance in my life as well. So where is the guilt coming from?
Summer. Summer is here, and my vacation has started. I have projects lined up, my to-do list made out, and time is much more my friend now than at any other time of the year. I have a manuscript to complete by August, crafts that need assembling, a junk room that needs organizing, and pictures to compile, organize, and put away in books and frames. Not to mention, I have my summer reading list to catch up on, submissions to critique so I can stay in the good graces of my writers' group, and a husband to hang with in a couples' fashion. All of this can be achieved this summer because Wesley will be attending daycare.
And therein lies the source of the guilt.
What kind of mom sends her child to school over the summer? What kind of mom puts her needs before those of her child? What kind of mom would look forward to a few blessed hours of independence (freedom really feels like much too harsh a word) in which she can focus on herself?
Mommy guilt says a selfish one.
I know that's unfair. I know it all the way to my core, and yet I can't help feeling that my sanity is hanging by a thread. All the justifications have been examined, repeatedly so: Wesley needs the social interaction at school that his daddy and I can't give him here. He needs the consistency of routine. He doesn't need to get out of the habit of going to school because, for him, the readjustment period would be too unsettling. And it's not as though Charlie and I ignore him. Sometimes he gets dropped off later at school, sometimes he gets picked up early. We always have a plan for the afternoon - Adventure Island, the Y, the library, our own backyard. Once he's with us, he's got our undivided attention until bedtime. How is that selfish?
Maybe because of the fact that parents do need time to themselves. My husband has pointed out numerous times that summer break for me isn't really a break. I use the time to perfect my writing, something that I really am hoping to one day make a solid career of. And then there's something Samantha, one of the incredibly intelligent and talent gals in my writers' group, said one time as we sat around eating lunch. I made a comment about being tired (fatigue is pretty much my sidecar companion nowadays), and she said, "Well, anyone working three full-time jobs would be." It took me a moment to comprehend because I'd never thought about it that way before. Teaching, writing, and mommying are all full-time jobs. Each one requires 100% of my attention, 100% of my devotion, and 100% of my energy if I'm going to do any of them well. Not to mention all the other aspects that make life worth while - time with family and friends, travel, the occasional nap - and suddenly, time, no matter how much is offered, is no longer a friend.
I have to say that when they tell you becoming a parent changes your perspective on EVERYTHING, they weren't lying. I finally understand my sister so much better, why she moves with non-stop energy taking her children to every destination within a 50 mile radius every day. She is exposing her children to everything she can, yes, but she also is doing it for herself. Sitting at home with one child is enough to make an adult ansy at best, but with three? Sheesh. Parents need that socialization as much as the kids, and there's nothing wrong with that.
And I also understand my brother much better, why he and his wife send their son to daycare during the summer. Yes, they have paid for it, but it goes much deeper than the money. It's all about routine, socialization, and giviing Ryan what he needs that is beyond their ability to give him. It's about finding time and space to be themselves, independently as well as a couple, and there's nothing wrong with that, either.
Being a parent is hard enough. Your life really is no longer your own, yet I've come to see that doesn't mean you have to lose yourself. It's a constant struggle to balance all sides of my personality, to make sure I'm nurturing myself as much as I'm nuturing my son.
And I have to remind myself we all do the best we can with what we've got, and in that regard, moms never have anything to feel guilty about.
