G is for Guilt

The guilt I feel often comes from unexpected places.

You might expect, for instance, pangs of remorse when I am moody or grumpy, but sometimes I can harumph around without a bit of guilt about it, full of myself. Today I should have felt guilty when I lied and told Peaches I would cancel her birthday party if she didn't go to bed and stay there, but instead I just felt relieved when it worked.

Really, the guilt comes during happier moments. This is hard to admit.

Sometimes I feel like an impostor, and I feel happy, and I feel guilty.

Today, for instance. The rooster stayed home sick, and so did his dad. Rooster is getting over a strep / sinus infection, and his dad might have an infection too -- his allergy to doctors prevents us from knowing (my diagnosis). So, Peaches and I had a RARE opportunity to go out after school, just us girls, before heading home. A kids' boutique only blocks from our house has its annual sale right now, so we hit the half price rack and scored ourselves a great pop-up princess palace for the backyard to use at her little party this weekend. We cheered when we found it, we held hands when we bought it, we chatted as we walked down the street, and she, without her brother around, behaved like the model child for many minutes. I even dared to take her afterward to a store for grownups two doors down -- a beauty supply place -- where I purchased conditioner and she flirted with the proprietor, who offered me a lollipop to give her (out of her earshot, thank goodness, as I said NO). All the while, I had this feeling Peaches and I ought to confess... "We aren't real happy people," I thought we should admit, "and our family isn't typical. We are just pretending. Don't expect we'll ever be here like this again, because we won't; the clock is about to strike twelve and we'll be pumpkins again."

Hey, I have confessed worse things here, but I wouldn't blame you if this gave you the worst impression yet of me. My heart, my brain, and my soul don't always listen to each other.

But by admitting it, I can learn from myself, work on myself. Today, I felt guilty because it was good to be just two NT chicas shopping at the sale rack. And I felt guilty because I was happy, and guilty because it was only a surface happy, and guilty because I'm not happier, and guilty because I waste too much time on guilt.

I love my son. As is. So big. Forever. But I'm not always good at being his mom. And the guilt about that gets to me sometimes.