Before I became a parent, I used to lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, feeling guilty that I hadn’t accomplished anything, or enough, for the day. I recited a litany of tasks, to-do items, obligations, opportunities and should-haves that could have been addressed in the 24 hours coming to a close. It was exhausting, mentally and physically.

Now, I still lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, but I’m not usually beating myself up with The Litany. Sure, I still feel bad/annoyed about the photograph-sorting project taking up half my dining room table; and I should have weeded out my daughter’s old toys for donation long ago. But mostly, I think “She’s alive for another day. Mission accomplished.”

My current position at The Telegraph has been a great segue back into the workforce, both for myself and for my daughter. Working only 20 hrs/wk, 4 days/wk and no weekends, has allowed us both to experience and cope with separation in manageable chunks. And because I work mostly at night, we still enjoy most daylight hours together.

I used to think that if I didn’t have to work, I’d be the physical ideal I long for: I’d work out, I’d do meal planning, I’d take better care of myself overall. I’d finish that novel, I’d get stuff done.

None of these things happened when I quit work to be a mother. But on the whole, I feel a lot less guilty about it.

A few days ago, my daughter and I were lying on our backs on the deck, staring up through the new yellow-green leaves at the bright blue sky. We pointed out bugs, birds and airplanes that whizzed past. I answered her questions. I didn’t think about cleaning my bathroom floor once.

One of the gifts of parenthood is being given permission to relax and enjoy this downtime, simply hanging out and playing with your child. Because that’s your most important daily duty. The dishes will indeed get done, eventually. Go ahead and play hand-puppets with your daughter. Go collect acorns into piles of “squirrel snacks.” Draw on the bathtub with the washable crayons. Kiss and hug and jump on the bed. You can write that novel later.