See the 18 astonishing reasons why I’m a bad mom

When I found out I was going to be a mother, one emotion preceded all the others. It pushed past my excitement and ran over my surprise and strong armed my undeniable thrill.

Fear. I felt afraid.

Not because I wasn’t emotionally or financially or physically prepared. Not because I was in a questionable relationship or worried about my career.

I was afraid I wouldn’t do a good job.

Motherhood has the extraordinary capability of filling you with as much self-doubt as with immeasurable joy. When I knew I would embark on a journey that would end in parenthood, I couldn’t help but look inward and judge myself, internally calculating if I would be able to do the right things or the smart things or the tough things or the necessary things, to raise a thriving, happy and well-rounded child.

Could I avoid being a bad mother?

The short answer, I’ve learned, is no.

To someone – hell, to a lot of people – I am a bad mother.

1. I’m a bad mother because I had an epidural and increased my son’s risk of being born via c-section. Why didn’t I take the pain the old fashioned way? Why didn’t I do whatever was necessary so my son could be born naturally?
2. I’m a bad mother because I put myself through ten hours of drug-free labor, clearly feeling some self-righteous need to prove that I was woman enough to birth without medication.
3. I’m a bad mother because I co-slept with my son, risking the possibility of rolling onto him in my sleep or creating an environment that would undoubtedly foster a needy, dependent child.
4. I’m a bad mother for transitioning my son into a crib before he turned a year old. Why don’t I want to bond with my son? Why don’t I pay attention to the needs of my child, and his want to feel comforted by his mother while he sleeps?
5. I’m a bad mother because I breastfed in public. What self-respecting, conservative mother would ever do such a thing?
6. I’m a bad mother because I fed my son formula after seven months. Why didn’t I love him enough to continue breastfeeding? Why didn’t I pump endlessly so he wouldn’t self-wean and I wouldn’t dry up?
7. I’m a bad mother because sometimes I feel so overwhelmed I need to walk away from the situation. I tell my partner he needs to take over and I grab the car keys and I drive to nowhere, decompressing as I listen to music.
8. I’m a bad mother because I don’t take enough time for myself. I’m out to prove something and I’m stretching myself too thin and I’m not being reasonable.
9. I’m a bad mother because I don’t play with my son enough. I’m working five days a week, taking conference calls and meeting deadlines and answering emails. He probably feels neglected or unimportant or alone.
10. I’m a bad mother because I don’t work hard enough to provide for my son. I take breaks and I reschedule meetings and I push back due dates because I want to give kisses or play with blocks or withstand a tickle attack. What example am I setting? What kind of work ethic am I exhibiting?
11. I’m a bad mother because I used to party and be promiscuous and was dangerously carefree. How will my son feel when he hears about the mess his mother was? How could I possibly change or become responsible or take care of someone else, when it used to be a chore to take care of myself.
12. I’m a bad mother for changing. How could I possibly be true to myself when I’ve altered my priorities so drastically? It’s probably just a phase. I’ll probably just regress. This probably won’t last.
13. I’m a bad mother for giving my son a pacifier. Don’t I care about his teeth? Don’t I have it in me to sooth my son in another way? Why don’t I drop everything and entertain him? Why I don’t I care enough?
14. I’m a bad mother when I try taking his pacifier away from him. Why would I do something I know will make him cry? Why don’t I care about the travelers or grocery shoppers or mall-goers around us, enough to do whatever it takes to keep my child quiet?
15. I’m a bad mother because I vaccinated my son. How could I possibly put foreign substances into my child’s body? How could I be okay with making him cry every time we visit the pediatrician?
16. I’m a bad mother because I cry when he gets his shots. Why am I not tough enough to do what is necessary? Why do I feel bad for protecting him and the other children he will undoubtedly come into contact with?
17. I’m a bad mother because I want to look attractive and continue to invest in my appearance. Why am I making myself a priority? Why am I so vain and self-centered and disgustingly shallow?
18. I’m a bad mother when I can’t find the time to shower or put makeup on. Why don’t I have it all together? Why are the basics so hard after a year of parenthood? What kind of example am I setting for my child?

Regardless of what I do or how I do it or my reasons for doing it, someone is going to disagree. To someone, I am a horrible mother who doesn’t know what she is doing. To someone, I shouldn’t be a mom. To someone, I am doing it all wrong.

Thankfully I’ve learned, after a year of motherhood, that the only one who matters is my son.

So when he smiles his humungous smile, laughs his infectious belly laugh, gives me those sloppy wet kisses and hugs me with his tiny, ineffectual arms, I know that when it comes down to it…

… I’m not a bad mom at all.
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