Do you ever get that nagging feeling in the back of your mind?

You know, the one that starts as barely a whisper, “Umm, excuse me. Hey. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing here?”  Then it gets promptly dismissed because of course we are doing the right thing. We are smart and capable and hello, I think I might know what’s best for my family, thankyouverymuch. Plus, I’m up to my eyeballs in other stuff to worry about right now. So shut up, mommy guilt and go rear your ugly head elsewhere. I’ve got pee-pee bed sheets to change for the bajillionth time this week.

But it doesn’t shut up. Ever. And sometimes you can subdue that little voice with facts and reason. But sometimes, well… sometimes the next thing you know, that barely audible whisper has risen to a deafening roar, shouting so loud that everyone around you can hear it too, “YOU’RE DOING IT ALL WRONG!!!” And this time it cannot be ignored, let alone quelled by facts and reason.

I had one of those recently.

But I sure shut that thing up... I quit my job.

The problem for me (and I hope I’m not alone here) has always been striking that elusive balance between work life and family life. It’s a fine line we walk. Or straddle. Or hop back and forth across. Either way, the onus of walking that line has been the bane of my existence since my two holy terrors sweet bundles of joy came into the picture. I blame the feminists. (Damn you, Gloria Steinem!) I kid… kind of… because I’ve never been denied my personal freedoms just because I happen to have a vagina. However, I do wish there were a way for a woman to CHOOSE to be a stay-at-home mom without it being damn near impossible to do so financially. And no, I’m not talking about some 1950s time warp where “women should be seen and not heard,” either. Only a place where it would be just a little bit easier, where a family might not have to sacrifice so much to make that work out for the few short years before the kiddos go off to school.

Which brings me back to my nasty bout of mommy guilt.

A couple of weeks ago, we were faced (yet again) with the daunting task of finding child care for Thing 1 and Thing 2, after being told that their newest day care (like the one before it) was just “not a good fit.” This would be day care #4 in 14 months.

All of our nearby options had been exhausted. (Ah, the joys of living in a small town!) I racked my brain. My husband racked his brain. Calls were made to numerous day cares, as far away as Eugene. (Which is a good 25 miles away!) I came to terms with the fact that I was going to be kissing half of my income goodbye for at least the next 6 months until Thing 1 started kindergarten in the fall. I scheduled and rescheduled day care tours. I also tried to still work my full-time job throughout this process. My boss was so fed up, he told me not to come back to work until the boys were back in day care.

Then it hit me. Hard.

“YOU’RE DOING IT ALL WRONG!!!”

So I quit my job. And I haven’t looked back since.

Life is simpler now. I’m happier. My husband is so happy he’s been “shitting rainbows.” (His words, not mine!) And most importantly, the kids are happier than I’ve seen them in a long time. And I only get one chance to get this whole motherhood thing right. (And isn’t there supposed to be a pot of gold at the end of that (shit) rainbow, anyway?)

So I’ll enjoy it while I can, because I know it won’t be long before that little nagging voice returns, and mommy guilt comes back to rear her ugly head once again.