When it comes to parenting, I have a suspicion that guilt and self-doubt are just part of the deal.
Guilt starts to eat away at my insides thinking about how impossible my schedule makes it to give August any kind of set routine.
I read lists of things not to feed your toddler and find that I'm feeding August something in the Top 5.
I wonder if he he's behind developmentally because I'm not teaching him enough---should he know how to count? say his ABCs? what age is it normal to start recognizing shapes and colors?
I worry about him getting too much exposure to technology or not enough time outdoors.
Just yesterday, August had a very public, very explosive tantrum---his first ever. I was shocked and so embarrassed I wanted to cry.
But the worst guilt comes on the days that I find myself daydreaming about an alternate life where I'm not a mom and I feel even guiltier for feeling that way when I have friends who are struggling with infertility.
I know I probably shouldn't care what other people think of me (though it's hard not to when I'm at the grocery store in yoga pants and a messy top bun) but right now I am imagining my friends who have multiples rolling their eyes at me and reading this post out loud in a whiney voice to their husbands. I picture single friends groaning and my friends who've experienced loss slamming their laptop shut in anger. But maybe not...maybe someone is sighing in relief that they're not the only one that thinks they might be messing up their kids or daydreams about being a travel journalist every now and then when it gets tough.
My plan was to end this post with something encouraging...but wouldn't be more honest to just end it mid senten