I spent this past weekend at a hotel for my daughter’s ringette tournament. It was… well… chaos, to say the least. Little girls running around the hotel screaming, painting nails, painting banners, watching movies, exploding popcorn everywhere, and dunking each other in the pool; simply creating havoc everywhere they went. To add to the excitement, they severely lacked sleep. Which, of course, resulted in increased tears, whining, and general moodiness. Now, being exhausted myself and overwhelmed with the lack of work I was able to get done this weekend, I was to my limit.
As a parent working full-time, I get how hard it is to balance life, work, family, and all the duties that go along with it. And then the guilt that comes with being a mother. The never-ending guilt that seems to be gifted to most mothers at the time of delivering their first child. I was no exception. I have experienced ongoing remorse of all of the things I should have done for the past seven-and-a-half years. And then, the ultimatum comes after every pity fest: this time, this time, I am going to make changes. I am not going to work so much. I am not going to yell so much. I am going to play more. I am going to, going to, going to…. And you know what happens? I fall back into the exact same old habits that caught me in the guilt trap in the first place. And on and on it goes. The problem is, I set too high expectations to change all at once. The elevator to world’s best mom is broken. I need to take the stairs, one step at a time.