Homespun guilt.

After our friends left for the evening, I rocked my girl to sleep, and then I graded for an hour. I hit a road block, so I dragged myself off the couch and out from under my papers and decided to gather our stuff for the next day. I grabbed just enough diapers out of the dryer for tomorrow; I was just too tired to stuff the whole load. (Is today really only Monday, and I'm already so weary of the routine?) My legs carried me to the kitchen to grab Klara's cubes of homemade baby food from the freezer for tomorrow, and I realized we were running low on fruit. Out came the pot and blender, and I had three trays of banana/apple/pear baby food ready to go in what seemed like no time at all; I was proud that I could "make do." I glanced up at the green numbers on the microwave and realized it was already nine, frustrated that I never got around to half the things I'd hoped to accomplish tonight and too exhausted to stay up late enough to finish it all.

I often think to myself, "I have too much on my plate and nothing can give." It's not really true. Target has shelves stocked with organic baby food. A few days a week of disposable diapers wouldn't hurt.

I do the "extra stuff" because I think it's best for Klara and for our budget and for the earth. I'm slowly realizing, though, that I also do it out of guilt. I feel guilty for dropping Klara off at daycare each morning. I feel guilty that I can't offer her a "traditional" home life. I feel guilty that even some of our weekend time is spent apart when she goes to her dad's. I feel guilty that I passed on my genes, marinated in alcoholism and addiction, to this little baby.

There are not enough cotton diapers or smashed edamame to make it right, but I keep trying.