Once upon a time, I had four little boys under the age of five. Believe it or not, this was my dream.
Sort of. (Some of those children were supposed to be girls, but that was the part of the dream I couldn’t control.)
I wanted a house full of little children. We would do crafts and play board games and have picnics in the park. We would eat lunches of star-shaped sandwiches and fruit made to look like little smiling people. We'd read bedtime stories all snuggled under one blanket on the couch, and we would create little plays that we would present for Daddy when he got home from work.
But, oh, things went terribly wrong, and I blamed myself.
Click here to continue reading "An Extreme Kind of Mom Guilt" on Mamalode. It will make your mom guilt feel like nothing compared to my mom guilt.
And while you're there, check out "I Faced My Fear of Heights for Him." It's a story about how a mom would do anything for her child, especially if he was dying.
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