Mom Guilt

Do you know what I love about being a mom? Nearly everything. 

I love the hugs and snuggles. I love story time and summer strolls. I love my baby’s button nose and the way my toddler says the most hilarious things. I love it when they learn to smile, laugh, give kisses, and finally say “I love you too.” There is so, so, so much to enjoy about this stage of life.

Sure, I’ll admit that being a stay-at-home mom was never one of my top priorities. Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen until I hit the ripe old age of 35. But now that I’m in the thick of it, I’m thankful. God knew just what I needed: two little angels (who occasionally turn into gremlins or worse) to help hasten my sanctification and fill up my cup with joy and love every morning, noon, and night. 

Especially night.

A Matter of Perspective

However. 

Can I just be honest for a moment? Do you promise not to think badly of me when you read what I’m about to admit? Ok, well, here goes: sometimes I feel bummed out, frustrated, and at my wit’s end as I raise these offspring of mine. I know I’m not alone in this. Every parent has been there. But even in the middle of feeling depleted and frustrated, I feel guilty for feeling depleted and frustrated. 

After all, they’re small for such a short time. Am I wishing their childhoods away when I feel worn down, spread thin, and aggravated? Am I wasting these precious moments when I focus on the messes, problems, tears, and needs instead of stepping back and enjoying the big picture? I should always feel thankful for the privilege of raising these little ones, so I should never heave a sigh or grit my teeth or wish it was already bed time. That means I’m wasting an opportunity to savor today with my babies, and that’s very bad. Right?

The Deeper Question

So as you can see, I have a problem. I love my children more than life itself and want them to stay small and sweet and squishable forever, and yet I find myself fairly frazzled from time to time, wishing it wasn’t pouring rain while both kids scream in my ears and it’s still four hours until dinner. But then I feel guilty. They’ll be grown so soon that I’d better enjoy even this moment. 

So what’s the balance between feeling sad that my babies are growing too quickly and feeling frustrated that I just found a turd on the record player? (True story. I still don’t know how it got there.) I guess my deeper question is, can I ever feel frustrated when things are hard, or will I look back in later years and realize that my response wasted moments that could have been sweet? 

A Day in the Life

I’m not talking about blowing up at my kids or actually wishing we were years down the road. Of course I’d regret that. I’m just talking about the aggravation I feel when everything is falling apart all at once. Like when I love my kids dearly and want to savor every moment but can’t wrap my head around how long it takes just to keep the house running as I help to two crying children while making dinner and wiping spit up and crumbs off the floor and accidentally checking the clock every five minutes to see if it’s bedtime yet. 

Those are the moments I feel depleted and bummed out. Is that wrong? Because I often feel condemned for these occasional, unavoidable, completely understandable moments of frustration. 

Old News

Now, this is when some older folks—like, strangers in the grocery store, mind you—tend to take a deep breath and launch into how much I’ll miss these days when my kids are grown. They’ll tell me how their kids were in diapers just yesterday, and now they have kids of their own. They’ll say that they’ve been through the messes and tantrums and sleepless nights, but they’d give anything to go back and do it all again. They’ll tell me how the days are long but the years are short.

But do you know what? That doesn’t really help. It doesn’t help because I already know that. I know with certainty that I will miss (nearly) everything about this stage and that before I know it, my kids will be in school, then college, then grown and gone. And furthermore, the thought of my kids growing up breaks my heart even as I look at my 9-month-old daughter. She’s already too big. Trust me, I would stop the clock in a heartbeat if I could.

And also…

A Night in the Life

And also last night I got up every two hours all night long so I could nurse my fussy, teething, growing baby, and I got up two extra times to tuck the Star Wars blanket around my toddler again because he just couldn’t manage to pull it up without me. And then I was tired. And then the kids were going absolutely nuts today—both of them crying about everything, getting hurt, feeling irritable, needing me to wipe their booties and put food in their mouths and tuck them into bed so I can do it all over again tomorrow. Or in two hours. 

And yet I love them more than anything. I would die for them without thinking twice. And I’m tired and occasionally frazzled. Is it possible to feel both emotions without feeling guilty about the second one? 

I’m All Right…Really

Now, I do realize that this is all a bit dramatic. Sleep deprivation has heightened the significance of my emotions. I know this is just a phase, and a short one in the grand scheme of things. I haven’t mentioned the immense burden on single parents or the immense blessing my husband is to me and our kids. I haven’t told you how my wonderful family usually comes over once a week to play with my kids or how my beautiful friends check up on me and set up play dates. And I haven’t talked about the strength that God gives me moment by moment, diaper by diaper. Parenting without all this would be more than I could bear.  

And sometimes just making it to the end of the day feels like more than I can bear too. But you know what? I really am all right with that. I’ve been a mama long enough to know that tomorrow will be better. Or at least it might be, and that hope is enough to get me out of bed again. There will be ups and downs, days when the kids have a blast and days when they really struggle. Me too. But I fully intend to enjoy every kind of day and as many moments as possible. 

The Golden Rule in my Golden Years

But I also hope that, when I’m old and gray, I remember this feeling. I hope the memory fuels me to listen instead of talk. To sympathize instead of offering advice. To give that tired mama a few hours of free time instead of another adage. To put myself in her shoes and show her the kind of love that so, so many are showing me today. Because that’s what she really wants.

Friends, I usually have a tidy way to wrap up my posts, but today I must break tradition. This is merely musing, a sneak peek into the crazy tangle inside my head. Sorry about that. If anyone has wisdom or insight to add, I’m all ears, despite a few of my previous paragraphs. And if any of you would enjoy playing with an adorable infant and an energetic toddler for a few hours, unlock your front door. We’re on our way.  

Only kidding. 

Kind of.