That crushing sensation of guilt

Motherhood inevitably brings with it a certain amount of guilt and a belief that somehow you are doing something that is horribly wrong...80 percent of the time. But this morning was exceptional by any standards.

It began normally enough, to be sure. DOM got up, watched a little Arthur, we got her dressed, let her put on an Elmo sticker, got a bagel and some water, and then climbed into my car. That's where things started to fall apart.

You see, I rarely drive in to work. Mr. MOM and DOM usually drop me off at the subway on their way in. However, Mr. MOM had a doctor's appointment this morning.

The ride in was uneventful. We talked, we sang, we didn't hit any traffic (a rarity, for sure, in this city). But as we approached day care, she started whining about her arm. I kept asking her what was wrong, but she wouldn't or couldn't elaborate, and since I kept hitting green lights (where is a traffic jam when you need one?) I couldn't turn around and look.

A few minutes later, we pulled up at day care, I put one of the clips she had taken out of her hair back in, and we headed into the center. She was whining about wanting a clip, but I hadn't been able to find the other one that she had dropped on the seat or on the floor. As I went to kiss her goodbye, I noticed four or five raised red spots on her face. One of the wonderful ladies at the center said it looked like bug bites, but I shrugged it off and said she has been playing with her hair clips, so she probably clipped her face or something.

I headed over to my office, but after about three or four blocks, I noticed I wasn't alone in the car. I had picked up a stowaway - a nasty little mosquito. The little bloodsucker apparently hadn't found his fill on my precious little girl, so he started circling me. Let's just say that now there is one less mosquito in this world, and I took great satisfaction in bringing about his demise.

But then the guilt hit. First of all, guilt over not responding when she was whining about her arm, thus probably noticing her role as a smorgasbord and saving her from the mosquito before she had quite so many bites (but, in my defense, there really was no place to pull over). Secondly, guilt over telling day care that it was probably something she had done (I called and corrected myself, and also asked if they had calamine lotion or something anti-itch they could use if the bites bothered her). Third, my hasty departure from day care when my little girl had undetermined spots all over her face. And, fourth, a sense of guilt that the photos and video of her second birthday (this weekend) may very well give testament to my failings as a parent. At least she will have photographic evidence when she wonders why she's so screwed up sixteen years from now.

So, here I sit, at work, hair shirt firmly in place. The good news is that this won't be an issue a couple of days from now - I will have something new and equally meaningless upon which to fixate.