Mommy Guilt is Real

The other night after frantically rushing around in a last minute attempt to prepare for Zac's birthday and non-party, it hit me, hard: Mommy Guilt is real.

It was late, and although Andel was home to help, the scene (and by scene I mean mess) that was my home still looked something like this: My kitchen was an explosion of baking paraphernalia, including a  flopped drum cake. I was covered in icing sugar and black food colouring - which, by the way, turned the icing purple, not black - that would not wash off, and simultaneously trying to keep track of a delayed flight, on a phone that kept crashing. Zac was watching the end of a 60-minute Disney Youtube video. Sam was screaming his head off, fiercely resisting any attempt by Andel to get him to sleep.

When I took Sam from Andel and cradled him in my dirty arms I suddenly just wanted to cry: I had totally neglected my infant to try create a confectionary masterpiece (more like mistake) for my toddler. And why? Just so I could say that I'd done it myself? Why did I feel the need to do that? (it's not even like it's that much cheaper than buying it from someone who could do it properly). As we dozed off together I comforted myself with the thought that perhaps I was over-emotional about it because I was tired and stressed. It made me feel a little bit better. Until the next morning.

Zac woke the next morning - his birthday - and looked at me with those doe eyes and wide smile, only to ask me for his beloved beebee. It just happened that, due to a bout of oral thrush I'd begun weaning him, and he hadn't drank for nearly a week. I battled with the temptation to let him feed one last time, and as I tried to convince him that as a newly three year old he no longer needed his beebee, my heart broke - and not for the only time that day. Later as I held him in my arms, his chest heaving with every strained breath, I could not stop thinking of the healing qualities of breast milk.
Damn that Mommy Guilt!

It's not that I didn't experience some guilt with one child, but since having two, it's becoming a daily thing. And I realize that I'll never win: being the imperfect, paranoid, proud person that I am, I'm always going to feel bad about something that I know I'm not doing well enough. It sucks, but is there really anything I can do to avoid it?

All I have is the present. I need to remember to take time every day to appreciate where I am right now; to savour every moment with my kids - even the tiring and tense ones - because I won't know it's the last one until it's done. And now that my big boy is three, I'm pretty sure there'll be plenty last ones - and plenty new ones - I need to make sure I don't miss...

Thank goodness for the perfect three year gap between my boys. If it weren't for the fact that I have a newborn to kiss and cuddle and love, all the emotion of Zac growing up and letting go would undo me completely.