Guilt wine

What is it about parenthood and guilt?

My life seems to revolve around a continual cycle of guilt at the moment; guilt at working too hard, guilt at not working hard enough, guilt at spending too little time with my toddler, guilt at worrying about spending too little time with my toddler, guilt at eating too much, guilt at eating too little, the list goes on and on and on.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

It’s exhausting. And also, totally pointless.

The thing is, I think I’m partly motivated by guilt. As much as I hate to admit it, the pangs of guilt that I experience every hour of the day – that unanswered email, that chocolate biscuit, that “I’ll be there in a second darling” moment – all help stop me giving up completely and slumping on the sofa with a jumbo packet of crisps while my toddler jumps on me. In a way, the guilt keeps me going, doing, striving and being.

Then again, it’s not particularly healthy to feel guilty all the time. And also, not particularly nice.

Pangs of guilt stop the enjoyment of a chocolate biscuit, for example. They can mar the deliciousness of an afternoon doing nothing much but cuddling up on the sofa with a sleepy two year old. In short, pangs of guilt may be motivating, but they’re not much fun.

So, from now on, I’m going to try really really hard to give up the guilt and be a bit easier on myself.

Just one question – how?!

Do you ever suffer from guilt pangs? How did you let them go? How do you get the balance right so the guilt doesn’t rule you, just keeps you on the straight and narrow? I’m listening.

The post Giving up the guilt appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

The child I know.

When I look at Frog, I see a happy, fun, incredibly independent little girl. I don’t see a toddler that can’t do what other toddlers can.

But when I collected her from the childminder’s today, that wasn’t the case.

Although my nearly-22 month old was beyond excited to see me, the childminder said she’d spent most of the day watching from the sidelines. Because she can’t walk yet like all the other kids, she’s often happy on her own in the corner, reading a book. That’s not what bothers me so much as the next thing the childminder observed: she’s not talking. At all.

Now, this surprises me, because the little girl I know – the one who I spend all my time with at home – doesn’t shut up.

This is the Frog that my neighbours know, the Frog that chases (or attempts to chase) the boys and dogs and cats that live in our little close. This is the Frog that wanders into the next door neighbour’s garden (granted, still holding my hand) and helps herself to a toy, pair of shoes and the trampoline, all the while calling to her favourite friend “Arrfuur“.

She’s certainly not quiet.

But she’s not like that when I’m not around, apparently. Or at least, not at the childminder’s anyway. There, she holds her hands in front of her face when a stranger enters the room. She’s silent most of the time, only uttering the occasional word under her breath.

When I proudly reeled off the latest developments in her speech – attempts at counting, animal noises and colour recognition – the childminder looked at me blankly. “She doesn’t do any of that here”, she said.

So I’m worrying.

As every other working mum I know, I’m wondering if I’m doing the right thing going off to work every morning. I’m only spending afternoons with her. Is this wrong? I’m wondering if she’s unhappy at the childminder’s, or if she just had an off day today and needs to settle back in after the Easter holidays.

I’m worrying that she doesn’t like it there and would be better off at nursery. I’m worrying that she’s got problems socialising with other kids. I’m worrying that she’s shy and that this will hold her back later in life.

I’m worrying. Nonsensical worrying. Damned worrying.

Tell me this is normal.

The post Tell me this is normal appeared first on Mother's Always Right.