I’m an inadequate mother. There, I said it. And I have to say that I feel a sense of relief saying it out loud or at least out in the open on a very public blog. I’ve felt this deep, burning inadequacy often in the last three years since my daughter was born, but I feel it more and more as I fail to properly navigate the twisted paths through parenthood.

Tonight, my husband is out of town, and my daughter refused to go to sleep. I decided to make things fun for her and to let her snuggle in “mommy and daddy’s bed” for a while, maybe even sleep there with me. I even let her watch a little movie in bed after her regular bedtime to make it extra special. I thought that would be a cool mommy thing to do.

The whole thing backfired on me. When I said it was time to go to sleep, instead of a compliant child, I had a toddler meltdown on my hands. What was I thinking? Of course she’d be overtired if I let her stay up past her bedtime. Why hadn’t I anticipated the errors of my ways? And why did I think my idea of cool mommy was even remotely suitable for a three year old? But what the hell do I know?

I don’t know, and there’s the rub. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, a devastating realization for an overachiever who has been good at just about everything I’ve put my mind to do. But not motherhood. I throw my heart, soul and brainpower into being a good mom, but it always seems to backfire on me.

For some reason, I’m not getting the memos on what to do when she refuses to go potty, refuses to eat her dinner, refuses to go to bed. Intellectually, I know she is testing the waters, testing her power as a little individual. I don’t know how much is too much discipline or how little is too little. I don’t want to crush her feisty little spirit, but I can see how this could happen all too easily.

Tonight, after carrying her kicking and screaming into her bedroom when she utterly refused to go to sleep in my bed, I listened to her screeching and howling. Then she came out of her bedroom and back into mine.

“Go…to…bed,” I said in measured tones.

“I don’t want to go to bed,” she sobbed.

“Go…to…bed…now…or I’ll carry you back in your room and shut the door.”

“I don’t want to go to bed in my bed. I don’t want to go to bed in your bed. I want to go to bed in the living room. On the sofa,” she told me.

The living room? Was that okay to do? Was I giving in too easily, I wondered, as I followed her to the living room and tucked her blanket around her as she curled up on the sofa. She wanted to go to sleep in the living room. I returned to my bedroom exhausted, overwhelmed, feeling like I didn’t know what just happened or why. Certain that I just committed Mommy Sin #1285 and creating some new problem by not making her sleep in her own bed tonight.

Then I had to laugh through my own tears tonight as I read Steve Woodruff’s post about Father’s Day, and how men can feel inadequate about being fathers. Who are the parents who don’t feel inadequate most of the time? Or what I really want to know is who are the ones who do, and what denial pill or happy sauce are they slugging down? I want some.

Am I the only one who feels at any moment I might get fired from this mommy gig?