I've been reading the book and working on some sort of post about the girls' third birthday and trying to get everything ready for their parties. Basically putting to much onto my plate and feeling like a failure and not doing anything spectacular to mark this milestone. Trying hard not to tell myself that I suck.
So imagine my surprise when I opened my reader and started weeding through the accumulate blog posts. Right there in the list was Arwyn telling me that I am not a bad mom.
Now, intellectually I know that I am not a bad mom. I'll even go so far as to say that I'm a great mom and I've been blessed with awesome kids. Okay, you twisted my arm...I ROCK! But there is still that place deep inside where shame lives.
I didn't carry them longer. I didn't visit them more in the NICU. I couldn't breastfeed. I didn't wear them as often in the early months. I switched to sposies. I didn't switch back to cloth before Batya got a horrid rash. I don't wear them as much. I spent all this money on carriers. I spent all this money on diapers. I spent all this money on toys. I let them watch TV. I cave when they whine. I haven't kept up their scrapbooks. I haven't knitted a lot for them. I haven't done formal schooling with them. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
All in all it is really ridiculous. When you look at it analytically and rip it apart from the emotional underpinnings. Which is really, really hard to do. Here is where I would love to tell you some sort of wonderful tip that would make it all go away. But I don't have one. That's why I'm reading the book.
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