Mom Guilt

Thursday morning I found myself sitting on an airplane, heading to our nations capitol for work. Instead of being excited about a few nights of uninterrupted sleep, spit-up free clothing and real adult conversation, I was in tears. Weighted down by incredible worry and guilt.

All week I had been warding off bad spirits. No one was allowed to be sick when I left. Pat was horribly ill on Monday. I quarantined him and disinfected everything he touched. That afternoon Fletcher started coughing - the scary croupy kind. I kept him home the next two days, running the humidifier and spending lots of time in a steamy bathroom, in hopes of avoiding actual croup. I even took him to the pediatrician on Wednesday morning just to be sure I wasn't missing anything. He was fine, just a little chest cold. Finally it was Thursday. I thought we were safe and left home early that morning for the airport.

And then the call.

Barely through security, Pat called to let me know Fletcher had thrown up his morning bottle. I sat for what seemed like an eternity trying to decide if I should turn around and go home that minute. Pat was prepared to adjust his schedule for a few days in order to get the kids to and from daycare. But now he was left with more than a handful. With a lot of reassurance from Pat and encouragement to continue on my trip, I left.

Long story long... Fletcher ended up being pretty ill for two days. Could hardly keep anything down. Pat had to take those days off from work, taking Fletcher to the pediatrician, cleaning up after volumes of rejected formula and explosive diapers. I stayed in DC feeling very irresponsible and selfish.

Now, I need to take a moment to give Pat the major props he deserves. He is one of the most capable fathers I've ever met. At no time did my worries have anything to do with whether or not he could handle the situation. We are total co-parents with no definition of responsibility. The kids are OUR responsibility. Shared. Period. I just felt like I should have been there too. I guess it's a special sort of guilt that comes with being a mom and - let's be honest - a feeling that no one else can do it quite like you.

When I got home late Saturday afternoon, I arrived to a clean house, peaceful, healthy kids and Pat like this...

In the kitchen. Making chicken soup. From scratch. I am not worthy. Maybe I should leave more often.

P.S. Fletcher is doing MUCH better!