I felt guilty last night. I'd come home on time and met the family at Flat Top Grill for a dinner that was the opposite of leisurely thanks to an overtired A. I gobbled my free meal between time-outs at the coat rack that she'd earned by throwing forks, grabbing for plates and hitting me.
But that's where my good mommy behavior ended. We headed home and I put my cranky toddler to bed. Then, at Z's insistence I got out the water colors and sat down to paint. But my heart wasn't in it. I was impatient with her whiny demands and ready to head to a neighbor's house for a girls' night and plenty of wine (the good kind). I was glad I wasn't putting her to bed.
But I still felt guilty. She was crying "Mommy put me to bed!" and Josh had been with her since noon. He'd fed and put her and A to bed the previous night since I was stuck at focus groups until 8pm and out with my clients until past midnight. Was it fair for me to leave again? Probably not. But I desperately wanted to connect with friends, apply some alcohol to what's been a rough couple of weeks at work, and sit outside in the summer air--even it it meant getting eaten alive.
So I've come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to win the Martyr of Motherhood award. I'm too selfish. It might seem wrong to spend my time away from work away from my family, but I need a little me time too.
