Mom Jeans

Harper started taking bottles of half formula and half breastmilk at day care this week. This is also her first five-day week at day care since October. In summary, Monday was kind of a trifecta of motherly guilt: returning to day care after a ten day vacation together, deciding to quit providing my child with the food nature intended, and increasing the amount of time she spends with paid strangers rather than her parents.

Now I know that it's not quite that bad, of course. Plenty of babies do just fine on formula, and she clearly enjoys seeing the other kids at day care. If a friend had complained to me about such guilt in my pre-parent days, I would have thought they were being a little dramatic. "Come on," I would have thought. "The kid is obviously fine and it doesn't reduce your quality as a parent. It's simple logic!" But then I turned into a mother and lo and behold, the guilt happens despite all attempts at rationality.

This irrational guilt is causing me some anxiety, because where does the transformation stop from my previously rational, young adult self into a stereotypical mom? The first step is apparently worrying about problems that aren't really problems. What happens next? Will I suddenly develop an affinity for knick-knacks and pants that zip over my belly button? How long do I have before I start praising the practicality of a minivan? I've already made the switch to thinking 8:30 is an acceptable bedtime rather than the start of an evening. Someone please stage an intervention when I start wearing makeup to the gym because I'm afraid someone I know will see me.