Wiping Cee’s snotty nose, I glanced at the clock. 8:42 AM. Wanting to be out and on my way and torn with guilt at watching my poor mom bend painfully to feed the kutties, I gave up. Dropping my bag, I took the bottle of baby food and shoved huge spoonfuls into two unwilling mouths. Dropping the spoon into the sink and wiping drool filled lips, I finally made it out the door throwing backward glances all the way.
Hearing increasingly loud wails filter in through the monitor, I fight sleep. I push away the covers to see K in a fetal position trying to hold on to beauty sleep through the wails. In the dead of the night as I hold a fussy, sniffling baby, I realize what it means – that mommy guilt. As much as I would like to pretend all is well with the world, I can not. I will not. I rock the baby till my arms give out. I go to bed knowing I will be up in the wee hours of the morning. I can let the baby cry it out but I have trouble doing that.
It’s when all the small decisions become big. When I haggle for that 5$ off coupon but hardly blink an eye at the four figure monthly fee for daycare. It’s when I mull turning the car around and quitting work. It’s when I debate putting my MBA on hold indefinitely. It’s when I put my feet up at the end of the day but cannot relax because my mind is in overdrive planning the next meal, planning for the next contingency.
It’s when I stand outside the door waiting for Cee to fall back asleep, as her sobs quiet down, I realize this thing. The mommy guilt. It’s just started and will last my life long.