I think I may be missing the guilty-mom gene. Or at least have a seriously repressed one. Saturday was my first night away from Nora, who just turned a mere six weeks old, and it was…fabulous. My younger sister is moving to California so my older sis and I headed to NYC to spend the day/night with her. We walked around Soho sipping coffee, bargained our way through a super-cool flea market and wound up at an insanely delicious, big-splurgy dinner—and, um, post-dinner champagne at a cool bar in my old hood (yes, I had a headache the next day).
With my sisters down by the Seaport....
Nick’s mom is in town to help with the kids and, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m not breastfeeding, so the fam was in good hands. And we had planned this “sister day” back in December (in lieu of Christmas presents). Anyway, I was only gone a total of 22 hours but it felt like a lifetime—in a good way. And here’s the kicker: I did not miss my kids. At all. Sure, I checked in with Nick a million times, snuck multiple peaks at cute Alex/Nora photos on my blackberry, and the only thing I bought all day were super-cute tees for each of them (here’s the designer's website), but still….
I have friends who wouldn’t dream of leaving their six week olds for a few hours let alone overnight. Or are wracked with guilt if they want to, say, get a manicure or go to the gym. I just don’t feel that way. In fact, I would probably pay good money to get another full-night’s sleep away from the fam. Go ahead and judge me. I remember when I went back to work after having Alex and all of my coworkers came into my office to “check on me” that first day to make sure I wasn’t too sad. Sad? I was out of the house with makeup on surrounded by adults. I had no one to worry about but myself and the Conde Nast cafeteria for lunch instead of old frozen burritos. It was fantastic! Granted, Alex was home with Nick so I didn’t have to worry. I guess that’s part of the reason my guilt isn’t so pronounced, that it’s not something I battle on a daily basis like other moms I know. I get to see my kids a lot. I am very lucky. I have also become good at ignoring that voice in my head that tries to lay on the guilt because, let’s be honest, it ain’t worth listening.
I am sure I will write another post sometime soon about feeling the guilt—perhaps about how much TV Alex is watching these days—but for now I’m good. How about you guys? How bad is your mom guilt? Oh, and when did you first leave your babies for the night? How did it go?