We sacrifice our bodies, possibly our lives, often give up education, careers, luxuries~~ essentially our children become our life luxuries. It is them for whom we forgo sleep, friends, routine, hobbies, space; we choose high-end strollers, non allergenic formula, diapers by the dozens over new jeans, shoes, dental work and vacations. All this and yet, I still hear the best mothers say, "I feel so guilty."
These words came from the sweet dental hygienist while I waited for the dentist. She is a family acquaintance--so we have a small a history beyond this reclining dental chair. Her guilt because she leaves her two children three days a week to help ends meet. In other words, to put food on the table and pay the mortgage.
"I feel bad when I have to hurry them out the door to get to work. I feel guilty when I don't see their first step or when I'm not there for the first day of school, or when they are sick and they still have to go to the baby sitter's." And the babysitter two out of three days a week-- is Grandma.
I can relate and have come to believe that motherhood and guilt are synonyms, two word companions for the most important job a woman will ever have. It's unavoidable and in spite of all we do for them, we can never do enough. My own mother still feels horrible about the time she gave me an antidote for cramps and I had an intense reaction--and that was forty years ago.
With most of my mothering years behind me, when I recall the days of tiny shoes and high chairs, I first remember the moments that still almost make me cry--the chaos of taking many children for ice cream and not realizing Jillian wasn't in the car; the infected baby chick that required emergency surgery on our four year old; the time I didn't answer the phone and it was my child's school; the time I was too harsh on the toddler who wouldn't stay in her bed --STOP! The guilt is washing over me even now and my stomach feels like it's a dryer with sneakers and towels, circling, bumping against the sides. I am not a mother, I am motherguilt.
However, I have a remedy. I fill my mind with the good-mother-stuff: the night I drove an hour and stayed up until morning to help my college student write a paper; the miles I drove for soccer games; the dinners I made when I never felt like making dinner; the all-nighters holding a newborn; returning to the store for another sheet of poster board; Christmas morning.
The highs and the lows are memorable, but I still need to go one step further--I need to remember the everyday, the mundane, the consistency. The love. Because love is an always regardless of the shortcomings, the mistakes, the inability to do magic, which is really what it would take to be the perfect mother, a mother without guilt.
These words came from the sweet dental hygienist while I waited for the dentist. She is a family acquaintance--so we have a small a history beyond this reclining dental chair. Her guilt because she leaves her two children three days a week to help ends meet. In other words, to put food on the table and pay the mortgage.
"I feel bad when I have to hurry them out the door to get to work. I feel guilty when I don't see their first step or when I'm not there for the first day of school, or when they are sick and they still have to go to the baby sitter's." And the babysitter two out of three days a week-- is Grandma.
I can relate and have come to believe that motherhood and guilt are synonyms, two word companions for the most important job a woman will ever have. It's unavoidable and in spite of all we do for them, we can never do enough. My own mother still feels horrible about the time she gave me an antidote for cramps and I had an intense reaction--and that was forty years ago.
With most of my mothering years behind me, when I recall the days of tiny shoes and high chairs, I first remember the moments that still almost make me cry--the chaos of taking many children for ice cream and not realizing Jillian wasn't in the car; the infected baby chick that required emergency surgery on our four year old; the time I didn't answer the phone and it was my child's school; the time I was too harsh on the toddler who wouldn't stay in her bed --STOP! The guilt is washing over me even now and my stomach feels like it's a dryer with sneakers and towels, circling, bumping against the sides. I am not a mother, I am motherguilt.
However, I have a remedy. I fill my mind with the good-mother-stuff: the night I drove an hour and stayed up until morning to help my college student write a paper; the miles I drove for soccer games; the dinners I made when I never felt like making dinner; the all-nighters holding a newborn; returning to the store for another sheet of poster board; Christmas morning.
The highs and the lows are memorable, but I still need to go one step further--I need to remember the everyday, the mundane, the consistency. The love. Because love is an always regardless of the shortcomings, the mistakes, the inability to do magic, which is really what it would take to be the perfect mother, a mother without guilt.