Bad Mom Complex

Ultimately, I know I’m a good mom because I don’t smoke crack and I haven’t forgotten my baby anywhere…yet . But there’s this silly part of me that worries, “I don’t want them to think I’m a bad mom.” It’s a phrase I use too much these days. My hubby is constantly flabbergasted that anyone would call me a bad mom, yet I’m always so preoccupied thinking about it.

“Uh oh, we better put socks on her feet or someone will say I’m a bad mom. She scratched her face because her nails are too long. She yakked all over herself and there isn’t a spare onesie in the diaper bag. Shame on me!”

I put a lot of  pressure on myself to be “perfect” at my new job as Mummy. I guess I’m going to have to get over my perfectionist ways, and quickly! I’ve learned that baby + perfect don’t mix unless you’re talking about how perfectly cute she is! Things don’t always go as smoothly as you envisioned, but hopefully everyone survives and maybe you learn what not to do next time. I guess this is probably how my parents felt at one point, and look at me — I still have all of my fingers and toes.

Guilt fuels my “bad mom complex.” Take for instance, this blog, which I love working on. Most days I write while she naps, but other days I find myself typing in between playing with her while we sit on the floor. I should be focusing all my attention on her, yet I’m not. Nothing like a baby trying to eat a power cord to get you to stop working though! Yikes! I try to rationalize my guilt by saying that a mom who works from home would be battling the same issues and since writing is my job (even though I don’t get paid for it) it’s okay. Yet somehow the “bad mom complex” rages on!

It’s so easy to say “The hell what other people think,” but it’s another thing to actually teach yourself this carefree attitude once you’ve been a people pleaser since you were born. I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing and hopefully when she’s thirty she’ll have all of her fingers and toes.

Me Time

A moment to myself…what is that? Is there time to escape to a tropical island? Nope. Is there time to eat a sandwich? Just barely. Thus is the life of a mom with a serial cat napper. It’s rare that my daughter will nap longer than 45 minutes. This makes it virtually impossible to get anything done around the house. Everything is always half-finished. This drives me insane! I don’t claim to be a June Cleaver or Martha Stewart (that’s my mother) but I like to keep a clean, organized space.

Since becoming a mummy I’ve had to say sayonara to the days of a neat and tidy home. I get twenty minutes to straighten up what was left undone from the previous nap and about a whole 90 seconds for “me time.” It seems she has a sensor that goes off when my butt hits the couch and I prop up my feet. As soon as I’m good and relaxed–pop–eyeballs! I can’t imagine how anyone with more than one child gets anything done. That’s got to be the reason why school was invented. Get these kids out of the house so Mummy can think straight, and while you’re at it, teach ’em something.

On the odd occasion she naps longer than 45 minutes, I don’t know what to do with myself. Plenty of time to do all my daily chores and thirty minutes to enjoy whatever show is on Bravo (even though I’ve probably already watched it twice already.) Oh happy day!

Is it bad to admit that sometimes I look forward to naptime? Well…I just did. I wish, as moms, we wouldn’t put these crazy impossible standards on ourselves. We shouldn’t feel guilty for indulging in a little Mummy time. That is what keeps us sane, right? That’s what the handbook said, anyway.