Mummy Guilt 2, this time it's personal....

Parent guilt is as normal as nappies, as common as colds. The guilty switch is activated by remote control in the maternity ward of the hospital in a procedure, which is unfortunately irreversible.
Whether it is the immense working Mum guilt; diet or discipline worries; breastfeeding or bottle feeding; constantly wondering if we are doing the right thing and comparing yourself with other Mums, the crushing guilt us parents experience feels like we are paddling up Excrement Creak without a parenting manual.
A study of 2,000 parents in the UK has found that we are consistently racked with guilt because we believe we are doing a bad job of raising our children.
The study found that more than half felt they were not good parents and did not have basic confidence in their ability. The research also reported that people constantly subjected to parenting advice in the media find themselves led away from their own common sense and down a road where they are made to feel bad about their parental decisions.
People bombarded with a perfectly fluffy version of how parenting should be can be made to feel like their ways are simply not good enough.
That’s where I come in. For the past six years I have regaled you with stories of how I get things spectacularly wrong. Not wrong that people die, wrong in a milder sense of the word where I feel stupid and people laugh. I hope, that by my failings, I make you folks feel better about yourselves and your far superior parenting skills.
My only hope is that I have entertained you with tales of our various trips to casualty, our disastrous holiday experiences, our comedic attempts at organising birthday parties, our novel ideas for First Communion outfits (remember Dan as Darth Vader, Me as Princess Lea, the baby as Yoda?)
Alongside all the other guilts I feel my own unique version of mummy guilt by parading my family’s life, experiences and adventures here on these pages for the world to see. I relay, with brutal honesty, our very trips to the dentist, what my kids do at school, the funny things they say. In a way I invite people into our home, into our family. Others would find this intrusive. Through these pages I have shared with you my son’s first steps, my daughter’s first words, my father’s last breath.
I showcase myself every week here in Technicolor with neon signs pointing at my own failings. I put myself out there for people to criticise my mothering skills. And they do.
We may feel that we are bad mothers on occasion or that we have made the wrong decision. But from time to time total strangers inform me that I am a bad mother, usually via email on a Tuesday morning after this column appears in the Irish News. It can be anything from my choice of career to my decision to breastfeed. Nothing is off limits for people’s vitriol.
But much like the parenting manuals with the perfect fluffy version of how we should behave I completely ignore them. What the hells bells do they know about me, about my kids?
There is not a one-size fits all parenting model no more than there is a perfect mother. It’s no good struggling to be perfect. None of us will ever be that. Just be the very best you can be. That’s good enough.