A mother's constant companion

Yesterday I arrived home at 7:30 in the evening. Once upon a time, this would have been early. For the year before I had Adam, I worked long hours, and was regularly home in time to go straight to bed. Then, it didn’t really matter. My husband was often away or also working his own long hours, and we always had the weekends to be together. Now, though, it is a different story. Now I have a baby at home and even with the best nanny in the world, he needs me and I need him. Until yesterday, I was doing pretty well, leaving on the dot. And, in my defense, yesterday was an exception: my new boss was over from Switzerland, it was the month closing and my husband was already home. But that didn’t stop me from feeling bad... from feeling guilty. After all, I have chosen to work full-time, in a position that would, at times, require me to work some overtime. Most of the time, I can justify my choices and feel confident that I am still a good mother (perhaps even a better mother), even if I’m not home during the day.
Regardless, though, feelings of guilt still seep through. I have heard that guilt is a mother’s constant companion. For a working mother, we seem to be Siamese twins. There’s no doubt we have come a long way since our mother’s generation (where my mother was one of the few who worked). Most of my female friends work, and those that don’t, intend to return to the workforce sooner, rather than later. I was offered a promotion shortly after returning from maternity leave – meaning no one in my company seemed to be worried about my shifting priorities, or the high probability I would be taking another mat leave during the next few years. Still, though, many people (of all generations) look at me sympathetically when I say I am working full-time. There is less sympathy and more disbelief when I tell them it was my choice, as opposed to something forced on me by a less-than-understanding employer, or our own economic situation. But, that's not the hardest part. I can deal with external judgment. What is hardest is that little nagging voice inside my own head questioning whether or not I am being the best mother to my son by working full-time.