The Art of Guilt

I think I elevated the art of feeling guilty to a whole new level last night.

I get home from work after BIT is in bed and LB has eaten her dinner. Because I’m a crap mom who misses things like that. And they will probably end up in therapy talking about their absentee mother and it’ll all be my fault.

DB says that the pernicious and stubborn yeasty diaper rash on BIT’s bottom isn’t getting better, despite a trip to the pediatrician and two different antifungal creams, and we may need to take her back in again. Because I’m a crap mom who can’t fix her poor daughter’s heiney. And her lady bits are probably going to rot off and it’ll be all my fault.

LB’s school report says that she “had a hard time going to sleep for nap.” Because I’m a crap mom who must be doing something wrong raising her daughter and I’m sure that her teachers know it and blame me for this one difficult nap. And they probably know that it’s a sign of underlying problems and LB will grow up to be a delinquent and it’ll be all my fault.

DB has a huge list of things that we need to do in the garden (like yesterday) and we didn’t have time to do any of them because I got home so late from work. Because I’m a crap wife and a crap gardener and I should find a way to work and still get home in time for him to get out in the yard. And the garden will probably fail due to neglect and it’ll be all my fault.

Blinks ripped a huge hole in the carpet and ruined that section because someone accidentally shut him in BIT’s room and he freaked the heck out. And I’m pretty sure it was me because I’m a crap kitty mom, too. And I have the attention span of a gnat and I probably didn’t even notice he was in there. And he will probably associate BIT with being stuck in the room and he’ll never warm up to her and it’ll be all my fault.

My friend Cris called and I couldn’t answer because I was busy with home stuff. And I haven’t talked to her or some of my other friends in weeks because I’m a crap friend. And they will probably all stop being my friends due to lack of contact and it’ll all be my fault.

And this list doesn’t even encompass how I feel about the house that hasn’t been cleaned, the gym that hasn’t been visited, the last beer (Tarbaby’s Vanilla Coffee Stout) that hasn’t been brewed, and the myriad other things that I take personal responsibility for, whether I need to or not.

I’ve still got residual icky feelings this morning. I know I can’t do everything for everyone and that I’m doing my best. But damn, this guilt is like a wet blanket that I can’t shake off and it’s dragging me down.

Why is there so much pressure to do, be, and have it all? Why can’t good enough ever truly be good enough?

2 thoughts on “The Art of Guilt

  1. Ohh the mommy guilt sucks… last night I got home just in time to get W in his jammies and put him to bed and it made me feel awful. Sorry you feel so icky with guilt right now, hope it gets better quickly!

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