“Tonight I failed my baby daughter.”
This was my status update on the night of November 7,
2012. I was sitting on my couch, feeling like the Worst Parent in the World. My
1-year-old twins were sleeping peacefully in the nursery. My husband had gone to
bed, too, but I was wide awake, replaying the incident over and over in my head,
trying to figure out how I had allowed myself to commit this lapse of good
judgment. I normally reserved Facebook updates for cute pictures of my son and
daughter, or of the Food Network recipes I was so proud of myself for
successfully replicating, but tonight was different. It was a plea: Let me know
I’m not the only one.
For the first year of the twins’ lives, I went everywhere and did everything that moms with just one baby did, in part to prove to myself that I wouldn't become one of those women who never showered or left the house all day. There I was, in the cute coffee shop, managing to feed the two of them at once (while feeding myself). I was there in the baby boot-camp class, ready to bench press my two oven roasters. We always arrived on time, while many mamas of one stood at the door pleading with the instructor to let them in 15 minutes late. As a family, we took field trips, flew on a plane, and dined in restaurants. There was nary a curb or narrow doorway that could hold me back, even as I pushed an increasingly heavy double-wide stroller.
People commended me for “just getting out of the house.” Sure, staying home seemed like the easier option but instinctively I knew that if I didn't get out every day I’d become a harried, sweat-pant wearing shut-in. Even though many women do what I do, I felt like a mommy badass–in other words, invincible.
This was my status update on the night of November 7,
2012. I was sitting on my couch, feeling like the Worst Parent in the World. My
1-year-old twins were sleeping peacefully in the nursery. My husband had gone to
bed, too, but I was wide awake, replaying the incident over and over in my head,
trying to figure out how I had allowed myself to commit this lapse of good
judgment. I normally reserved Facebook updates for cute pictures of my son and
daughter, or of the Food Network recipes I was so proud of myself for
successfully replicating, but tonight was different. It was a plea: Let me know
I’m not the only one. For the first year of the twins’ lives, I went everywhere and did everything that moms with just one baby did, in part to prove to myself that I wouldn't become one of those women who never showered or left the house all day. There I was, in the cute coffee shop, managing to feed the two of them at once (while feeding myself). I was there in the baby boot-camp class, ready to bench press my two oven roasters. We always arrived on time, while many mamas of one stood at the door pleading with the instructor to let them in 15 minutes late. As a family, we took field trips, flew on a plane, and dined in restaurants. There was nary a curb or narrow doorway that could hold me back, even as I pushed an increasingly heavy double-wide stroller.
People commended me for “just getting out of the house.” Sure, staying home seemed like the easier option but instinctively I knew that if I didn't get out every day I’d become a harried, sweat-pant wearing shut-in. Even though many women do what I do, I felt like a mommy badass–in other words, invincible.
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