I’m suffering from a case of Mommy-guilt. A bad case. Normally when I think of Mommy-guilt, it’s involving moms that work, but that’s not my case. But it doesn’t make it any less painful.
It started about 3 years ago. Shortly after our youngest was born, I started to have a feeling that something wasn’t right. Late-onset jaundice that took almost two weeks to improve, body tone that didn’t seem quite right, lack of growth…it was all screaming at me, loudly.
After numerous doctor’s appointments, some helpful, some not, we ended up traveling to Mayo for answers. We’ve been coming here ever since.
The Mommy-guilt started then. At first, before we knew what we were dealing with, it was simply that I wasn’t around for my other children like I wanted to be. Our poor 5-year-old would be dropped off at our drop-in daycare and I would be off to an appointment, only to have George admitted and I wouldn’t be home for a few days.
It was traumatic for him…and for me.
And now, here I am again, except this time with my father. I will miss Trick-or-Treating tonight, Parent-Teacher conferences tomorrow and a slew of other little events. The kids know I’m with Grandpa at the doctor’s. They call and give me updates. We have a wonderful young lady who is more than willing to step in and help my husband keep the kids on track.
But this Mommy-guilt is killing me.