I was sitting down with my kids enjoying the sun. We were at the mall and a cover band was singing their version of ” Purple Rain”. My youngest was on my lap and his older sibling was to my left. I was enjoying the nostalgia of being able sit and listen to the lead singer croon out the lyrics to one of my favorite Prince songs.

If you know this song you know that there is no way you can just listen to it. It’s one of those songs that grabs you and pulls you deep into its grip until the last note had been played. So, I usually sassily sing every single word. Even the ones I can’t quite remember.

But that day in the middle of the billboard hit I found my mind drifting off. It hit me that neither one of my children had heard the song before then. They didn’t even know who Prince was. I felt myself flooded with guilt. Guilt and a bit of anxiety. I started questioning myself. And that led to questioning the type of mother I was, and I wondered if I was doing a good job. And while the guitar solo was played, I went down a rabbit hole. Fast. How had I not introduced my children to this song, to this artist? What other great artist had I not introduced them to?

I looked over at the eldest as he chewed on his straw. He was disinterested and utterly bored. I blamed myself. If I had introduced him to rock, soul, ballads or even orchestral music maybe he would have been able to appreciate one of the 500 greatest songs of all times.

`Once the mini concert was over, we headed to the car. My mind still berating me. I pulled up my playlist, connected it to the car stereo and started playing, ” Prince: Greatest Hits”. And while Prince was singing his heart out, I explained to my children who Prince was and why he was one of the greatest singers of his generation. In the middle of my speech, I realized that both children were asleep. They had fallen asleep while both Prince and I were pouring our hearts out.

I parked the car in the driveway, and I sat in my silence. I went back and forth between admitting I had overreacted and the weight of my anxiety (or as I call it, momxiety ). In the end I decided that I would among other things make sure to play a wider variety of music at home sans headphones.

Mom guilt in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing because it means that we care about our kids. But we don’t have to buckle under the weight of it, especially if it’s something small, something we can fix.

Be soft with yourself. Perfection is overrated.