I feel the need to confess. I’m not 100 percent satisfied with being a mom.
I love my kids. They’re a great joy. They make me laugh, and I’m grateful that God gave them to me. I’m still amazed at the whole womb to birth to child development process.
But.
I need more than this. More than dirty diapers, jarred baby food, car seats, breastfeeding, potty training, waking up at 5 a.m. to crying children and a constant state of unclean. People tell me I’m going to miss these days. Really? I’m going to miss graham crackers stuffed into a piggy bank? 
Stepping on toys in the middle of the night? Temper tantrums? Getting up 20 times during a meal to meet the needs of a 2-year-old, then a 10-month-old, then back to the 2-year-old? Stickers in every corner of the house, and on the van?
And for this, I feel guilty.
I know moms who seem to be totally content in their role. I love that you home school, make Halloween costumes, create fun activities and projects to do on rainy days, and enjoy your kids so much that even a day without them is hard.
I’m not you.
For this, too, I feel guilty.
Why is it that no matter our situation, we moms seem to always be on a guilt trip? And is it only moms or are women, for some reason, prone to book themselves on a one-way flight to can’t-measure-up land?
I heard at Bible study tonight that women find it tough to be “too much and not enough all at the same time.” (Our video quoted Staci Eldredge, “Captivating” author, among others.)
So, we can’t win? If we’re too much we feel guilty and if we’re not enough we feel guilty. That’s enough to make me feel guilty.
God has given me a passion — OK, I’ll call it a gift even if I don’t always want to believe that — for writing. And I’m insanely frustrated right now because there are words, stories, projects, scenes in my head, fighting for attention, trying to make their way from my brain to a computer screen somewhere, and I can’t make it happen. I can’t find the time. When I do have some time, I feel like I’m too wiped out to put in the effort writing requires. I need to read and research and write, and instead my days are spent with my two darling adorable children who will only be this age for so long, and at times, I’m resentful that I don’t seem to have any time to do what I was made to do.
And, you guessed it, I go back to feeling guilty.
So, what’s a mom to do? I can’t stop raising my kids. I’m not even sure we’re done having kids. I know that raising them is a worthwhile experience, but I can’t ignore the passion to write that burns inside me. I’m really bad at waiting. And I think to myself: if God is making me wait on the writing, then why is my head full of ideas?
I feel stranded, and I need a way out. I’d like to settle in the land in contentment, but I’m not sure I have the resources to make it there right now.
If you know a good travel agent, let me know. I’ve taken my last guilt trip.