Motherhood Minus the Soul-Sucking Guilt

I’m about to wrap up my first year navigating a new decade of my life. When I entered my forties, I read all these articles about how liberating this decade is for women. Apparently, it’s the time of life when you feel most like yourself and when you let go of regret and behaviors that hold you back. I think those concepts are a bit high-minded because, in my experience, we just let go of the guilt that ran our lives in our twenties and early thirties—which makes us even more selfish than we were earlier in life (just go with it for a minute—I promise I’ll explain.)


When I first became a mother, I sort of melted into the role. I started baking, even though I didn’t know the difference between a scone and a pancake. I put on some happy weight and bought clothing with pictures embroidered on them. I pureed baby food and cried for a week after I’d made the decision not to breast feed because I had read all of the articles and knew that my kid could turn out to be a slow-learner with allergies because of my decision. I bought scrapbooking supplies by the ream and subscribed to parenting magazines. But, after a while, I missed me. Or maybe I just got lazy—I’m not sure which, but either way, by the time my third child arrived I no longer felt the need to get on the floor and play or to justify my dependence on bottles filled with Similac.

Playing the role of mother just seemed too exhausting, so I became just my kid’s mother.



And my kids have a flawed and often selfish mother, but they’re used to it and they know better than to complain because it won’t change anything. My kids know that the Toothfairy is notoriously unreliable and that Santa’s presents will disappear from under the tree if I’m woken up before seven on Christmas morning. They also know that I will not “play” with them. I will, however, read a book nearby while they play. I also have no problem confiscating the homework computer so that I can mindlessly surf the web. They know that I love bedtime best and that if you forget your homework or your lunch you’re on your own to figure out a solution. I nod my head when they speak to me, even though nine times out of ten, I’m not really listening and they know that they will have to repeat the important stuff at least three times before I’ll actually hear it. They know that Dad is the fun one, but Mom is better with homework.

Years ago, this behavior on my part would have sent me into a guilt-ridden tailspin. But I’ve lost the guilt. I subscribe to “In Style” magazine and so, I have no idea how to interpret a baby’s facial expression. And, most selfish of all, I really don’t care to know. What I do know is that I love my kids. I love their fierce individuality. I love the fact that my kids have strong personalities, strong opinions and enough guts to express those opinions. I love that we can talk about almost any subject openly and honestly. I am nothing like the picture of motherhood I embraced years ago but I’m also not riddled with guilt by the fact that I can’t be that mom. But I am a mom who wants what’s best for her kids—and I have to believe that I was sent my children because I was the best mom for them—even if I don’t believe in slumber parties.