Before I had children, I romanticized what it would feel like to be a mother.
I envisioned having these perfect little humans – the spitting image of me, of course – who would be the center of my world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them; my children would define and justify my existence.
I have children now – two perfect little boys, only one is the spitting image of me – and they are the center of my world. My pre-offspring predictions about how much I’d love my children were pretty spot on. But for all the feelings of love, anticipation, nurturing and excitement I’d felt, there was one I hadn’t counted on – guilt.
Mothers feel guilty, all the time.
I feel guilty about my choices and the choices I don’t make. I feel guilty when I take on too much and when I don’t take on enough. I feel guilty when I say no… and sometimes, I even feel guilty when I say yes. …