I mentioned last week I was suffering from a big case of WMG or Working Mom Guilt. I acknowledge this isn’t something unique, but it is my own little satchel of rocks I carry around on a daily basis. One of the things I have the hardest time with is time- mainly how much time I spend with Gracie versus apart from Gracie. I can’t/won’t do the math on how many hours a day I get with her when she is awake during the week beause I know whatever paltry total it is would just totally and utterly depress me. Combined with the fact that I know she is learning and having fun at daycare (in ways I couldn’t replicate as a stay at home Mom) I tell myself that right now, for our family, the benefit of that outweighs the time apart. But it means when I’m presented with something to do without her during awake time I’d get with her, I’m stuck deciding between her and me.
The logical lady-lawyer side of my brain (and my kind, supportive husband) know that time on my own is important. That time “on my own” at work isn’t really the same thing and sometimes dinner or drinks with a friend, a pedicure, a trip to the grocery store on my own- these are all good for me. They are rejuvenating and relaxing and all a big part of mental health and happiness and being well rounded and not being engulfed by the role of “Mama” at the expense of all my other (also important) roles.
But the mushy-mama side of my brain calculates the time away from my child and then the little devil angel sits on my shoulder muttering “Is it worth it? Missing your child even more than you have to?” and I’m sent into this spiral of “I shouldn’t go” and “I should maximize my time with her” complete with feelings of loathing and “not good enough” chants. Special, I know.
Monday night a friend of mine was in town and at the last minute we were able to meet up for dinner. The minute the opportunity popped up and I was immediately filled with “That would be so wonderful” I told myself that was it. “That would be so wonderful” and I just spent 3 days soaking up my little girl. Missing one bedtime (that her Dad is perfectly capable of handling as well as perfectly happy to do so) isn’t going to label me a deadbeat Mom and so I went and shut away all the “guilty” feelings in a box. I had a great time catching up (and not worrying about the wrangling children in a restaurant) and I came home to crafted Mother’s Day card. After making B tell me every aspect of her day and her dinner and “how was bedtime?” and “how was bath time” I recognize that an evening away was good for me.
But I still miss her. And I know I’ll still struggle with going to do something on my own on a Saturday afternoon because I work and I’m forever wondering if the time I get with her is good enough. I’ve actually had the thought “Working Moms don’t get their own things becasue work is their own thing” before the horrifying realization of what I’d thought sunk in. I get more than work. I deserve more than just work. But sometimes, when I’m staring at the sleeping baby, I wonder if I’m balancing everything just as I should.
