So this morning I fell out of bed at 5.45am, after an eventful night of ‘dummy shove’, ‘find the blanket’ ‘and give me back the covers’ fun. Our alarm clock was wailing in her room, needing a new nappy and milk immediately please. And then it starts… the guilt. As my need to go to the lavatory surpasses a wailing child…which then wakes up the whole house meaning one grumpy hungry baby, a grumpy toddler and a grumpy daddy – all because mummy needed a wee.
Of course the one thing I (and I suspect half the population) suffer with constantly is mummy guilt. This bugger comes in many, many forms and strikes at least once a day – and usually starts when we wake up and continues until we go to sleep. Sometimes if we are really lucky, it hits us through the night too… when we really just want to lay there and catch some zzzz but a small child and our mummy intuition decides differently.
And as the day pans out, where you make one decision after another –
- Should I take her out when she is supposed to be napping? (of course not, because then she gets bad quality sleep… or if you stay in refuses to sleep)
- Should I put her in that outfit? Is it going to suddenly hit 30 degrees? (yes – and she boiled to death)
- Should I put that extra bottle / pouch in? (yes of course, because she’ll decide she wants bloody milk when you don’t have it)
- Do I see to the eldest first or the youngest? Who is shouting loudest or will be easiest to sort? (Which ever I go to first, I should have dealt with the other.. normally involves pooh or food)
- Do I need to take the Pottette? etc… (Always take the bloody Pottette!)
You realise that this is it – you are damned to feeling guilty all their lives because you can never make the ‘right’ decision.
Because never again will you ever be truly selfish. I’ll be honest – I miss the old selfish me sometimes… the one who only felt guilt when she missed a deadline, cancelled plans on a good friend, or for preferring to indulge in a Meg Ryan movies on a Sunday morning instead of going to the gym.
Now, having ‘one more glass’ makes me feel guilty (well sometimes), leaving them at nursery or with other family members so I can go to work, or get some mundane chore done makes me feel guilty, getting cross because we had yet another accident in our Peppa knickers and then feeling guilty because she is only 2 and a half.
And then that translates over into other areas of life – you start to feel guilty that you haven’t spoken to your husband about anything other than how much milk she took, or whether she ate all her dinner… and you can’t attend that meeting with the US at 5pm because it just isn’t practical due to witching hour… You literally ‘swim in it, until your fingers get all prune-y’ – Meg Ryan, French Kiss (sad… yes)
This isn’t a tips on how to deal with it type blog, because to be honest I think its like being an alcoholic (BTW I’m not one…I think I would be if it wasn’t for the guilt) – you just have to take each day as it comes (or get a bloody crystal ball) and as we get used to each other it becomes easier to…’Let it go’…