Bless-ed

"Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her."  Proverbs 31:28.

Isn't that what every mother wants?  Man, I never got that verse till this year.  And side note:  this is how you know I was raised on King James:  I totally read that as 'bless-ED.'  Old school, like circa 1600's old school.

As a daughter, this was not my best mother's day, because as a mother and wife, I was kinda scraping by these last two weeks.  This whole being a working mom thing is just rough sometimes.  Sometimes, I can totally manage it.  Lunches are packed, housework is done, my commutes are productive, I've energy to spare, (who am I kidding, I just have coffee to spare.), and my daughter gets all my free time.  Not so much the last couple of weeks.  Work has been draining, my schedule has been shittay, my girl had to spend two nights away from me and I was a big heap of mess.  Blah.  I spent the last two weeks not getting enough time with my daughter and feeling oh so guilty.  I'm not way into the whole attachment parenting thing, but I know when the connection between Darby and I is off and it just crushes me.

I am so bless-ed to have two great moms in my life who love me and take care of me and I had heaps o'heaps of fun little plans for special little things to do for them.  Plans count for something, right?  I love you moms!  The guilt makes me cringe,  (note to self:  remember this week when Darby forgets to treat me extra special on Mother's Day in the the distant future).

Oh guilt, the best friend I never wanted. 

Speaking of guilt, you never know real guilt until you have a baby.  Seriously, you love this creature like no one has loved in the history of the earth.  No dog held my heart like this, no accomplishment, even my darling husband doesn't quite inspire this feeling of fierce, primal protectiveness and raw love, (and I love that man A LOT).  And when you love something like that, you want only the diamonds and rubies of life for them, nothing is good enough.  Which means you are not good enough.

And I know, in a logical, factual, rational, educated way that I cannot and need not be perfect all of the time.  I know that I will make mistakes and I know my child will survive and even thrive despite/because of those things.  I know that.  And yet, the guilt comes. 

My friend and I talk about how Seattle is one of those not so easy places to be a mom.  We're gaga over cloth diapers, the perfect ergonomic stroller, making our own baby food,  advanced pre-schools that teach Japanese and German...And these are great things.  But if you don't follow all these trendy best practices, you can still totally rock momhood.  Your kid can still get accepted into an Ivy League if his peas came from Gerber, not your organic, home made composted, garden. 

I think I've mostly gotten over that kind of 'be the perfect parent' guilt, but I still constantly want more for myself.  I know what the best is, and I'm just not satisfed with being a mediocre mom.  I'm constantly on the look out for mom mentors.  If you raised your kids right and they still want to hang out with you when they no long are forced to, I want to pick your brain.  Because in the end, when my hair is all gray, ( though it may be a secret between my hairdresser and I), and my salad years are behind me, the most satisfying thing I can imagine is my child and husband choosing to be by my side, calling me blessed.

(No pictures today.  After almost a month hiatus, this post alone is an accomplishment!)