I'm Not a Good Mom

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I'm not a good mom.

And let me tell you right now, if you're reading this and doubting whether you'll be a good mom, I can assure you, you probably won't be. Here's why.

The most enjoyable portion of my pregnancy was also the shortest. Those peaceful, underappreciated moments of anonymity before anyone else knew, when I was naïve and excited and hormonal and nauseous. Looking back on it now, I would have kept her all to myself as long as possible, before the well meaning world could weigh in- and weigh in it did. Having just made a strategic job change and also looking into grad school, I began sorting out the logistics of how daycare, family, babysitters and friends would fill in the schedule. That's when it began. The Advice. These years go by so fast. Attachment theory. You don't want to miss her firsts! You need to be a mom first. You won't be able to travel if you're breastfeeding. Are you breastfeeding? You are, right? Children need stability. Routine. Bed times. Consistency. The mother must be the rock for the household. Organic. SCREEN TIME!

The joy and excitement of pregnancy quickly gave way to debilitating guilt and fear. Was I being selfish by going back to work? Was my career and my identity coming to an end? Was I going to resent my child if it was? Was I setting them up for a lifetime of therapy if it wasn't? Was I about to be condemned to cutting the crust off of PB&Js and pretending I didn't know anything about equity transfer strategies and trust structures? Was I a horrible person for wanting to ride horses and drink beer? Was I not going to be a good mom? I spent the rest of my pregnancy depressed, anxious, guilt ridden, and miserable. Reflecting on it today, I was robbed of the joy of pregnancy by not having the foresight and confidence to see past their criticism to what today would look like.

My daughter is now 2, and she started daycare four days a week at 8 weeks old. One day a week she's watched by the greatest nanny of all time. I went back to work full time two weeks later, and I started pursuing my MBA just after her first birthday. I'm gone for class every other weekend. I travel for work, occasionally out of state and often overnight. She has been watched by well over a dozen different grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, friends, and random teenagers. After a recent residential session for school, I took two extra days off after being gone for over a week, to stay at a dude ranch in Arizona by myself. I ride horses, sometimes I take her to the barn, sometimes I don't. I go to the gym. I serve on boards. I drink alcohol. I started a 4H club. I occasionally go out to dinner with friends, and the better ones even come to us. That girl has more "aunties" than you can shake a stick at. My husband's career is even more demanding than mine from an hours standpoint, and yet he's managed as many bedtimes as I have.

I'm pulling into our house around 9 tonight, about an hour and a half after what at one point I believe used to be her bedtime. Her dinner was ice cream and pizza while riding in the chopper with daddy, while she told him about the shapes she learned today, sang him Happy Birthday (it's not his birthday), and recited the ABC's we drew in the driveway. She won't get a bath tonight, but we swam in the partially cleaned pool earlier so it's probably fine. We didn't watch any TV today, but she did spend half of yesterday watching Spirit curled up on the couch eating popcorn with me while I worked on developing grant applications. After we left daddy in the field tonight, to keep working a few more hours, we drove home practicing making happy and angry and sad and silly faces, and listing all the family members she could think of, dogs and horses included. While holding one of my hands, of course, as always.

I park the car and turn around to look at my silly, sassy, sweetheart of a child. Arms stretched wide, sleepy grin on her face, she sings, "Mommy loves me thiiiisssss much."

I'm not a good mom. I'm a fucking great mom.

You will be too.