I don’t want to alarm you, but when you become a parent all
sorts of strange things happen to your life: sleepless nights,
sticky clothes, entire conversations about bodily functions,
etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But, trust me, nothing compares to
the sudden onset of Mystery Guilt.
I don’t want to alarm you, but when you become a parent all sorts of strange things happen to your life: sleepless nights, sticky clothes, entire conversations about bodily functions, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But, trust me, nothing compares to the sudden onset of Mystery Guilt.
Let me explain. This is not just your run-of-the-mill garden variety of guilt that comes from being late to the dentist or forgetting your mother-in-law’s birthday. Oh no. Mystery Guilt is a special kind of guilt reserved for parents. It’s sneaky and unpredictable, and it’ll strike at your weakest moment. Much like the urge to sing karaoke or to suddenly get a perm.
For instance, there you are, minding your own business lying in bed and reflecting on the day’s events, just about ready to drift off to sleep when all of a sudden your eyes will fly open and you’ll think: “I licked the pacifier, and gave it back to the baby. I missed the mandatory PTA meeting at my daughter’s school. I have three loads of dirty laundry stuffed behind the living room sofa. I only have a handful of baby pictures of my second child, and I put catsup on my daughter’s peanut butter sandwich because we’re out of jelly. Oh. My. God. I’m a terrible parent!”
It’s then that you’re sure that your children will grow up to be dysfunctional sociopaths who will never hold down a day job or leave home because of you, the kind of person who passes off condiments as sandwich fillers and cleans pacifiers with your mouth.
Let me just stop right here and say that the biggest difference between Mystery Guilt and Plain Old Guilt is that the first is much, much worse. Trust me.
Take, for instance, the other day. Both of my kids were in school and I was about to meet a friend for lunch when Whammo! Suddenly, I HAD to put in a load of laundry to make me feel better about my husband being at work while I was off shoe shopping and having childless luncheons. Then I noticed the furnace filter needed changing. And then the windows needed wiping. The rest of the day is a blur.
And, yes, it does sound crazy. But in my defense, it’s not just me. Last week I saw a frantic looking woman in the drug store with two preschoolers, clutching five dozen cupcake tins, a do-it-yourself birdhouse kit and a baby scrapbook. Now some of you are probably thinking, “So what? People go to the store all the time for stuff like that, you know.” But I immediately recognized her for what she was: another victim of Mystery Guilt.
Now every parent knows that the funny thing about Mystery Guilt is that it seldom works on anybody else.
Sure, I’ve tried sighing and putting my hand on my forehead and saying something like, “Gee, I wish someone would clean out the dishwater, change the laundry, and feed the cat. I’m just SO tired.” But, naturally, kids never fall for this kind of stuff.
But I must admit, Mystery Guilt does have its perks, one of which is that whenever it strikes, my house never looks better.
But the bad news is that just as unpredictably as it comes, it vanishes again. And sooner or later, I’m back to my old laissez faire ways. At least, I’m back to my old ways until Mystery Guilt strikes again.
And if you’re a parent, trust me, it will.
