Yep, left the kid waiting in the dark for a half-hour after soccer practice. Second time in two weeks.

I'm a bad mother.

In my defense, the seasonal change in daylight hours caught me off-guard — and sometimes I forget to look up from my computer screen to check on the advancing night. When you get into the deadline zone, you tend to blot out all other demands, even your offspring.

For that and other reasons, I'm not so sure journalists should be allowed to have kids. The hours are long, the stress is high, schedules are unpredictable, and the news doesn't wait, not even for children who haven't had their dinner yet.

No one remembers the greats because they were devoted parents who managed to balance the job with a normal home life. Most are revered for being hard-nosed, wise-cracking workaholics with a high tolerance for whiskey and cigarettes. Not quite the parental ideal.

Those of us who have chosen to reproduce live in a constant state of guilt and shame.

We had to quit Cub Scouts because I couldn't get to the evening meetings on time, yet in a pinch I've dragged the little tykes to murder trials, fires and fatal car wrecks. (Guess their therapists can sort all that out later.)

Once when my son was pouting because I had to miss one of his games, his older sister chimed in: "Get over it. You know how many of my things she's missed?"

Ouch. Insert dagger into heart and twist.

Some reporters also may possess a cynical world view not conducive to child-rearing. Instead of instilling their innocent minds with idealism and hope for the future, I'm afraid my kids have absorbed a sense of disillusionment with government, capitalism and humankind in general.

Journalists also are far too familiar with the horrible, heartbreaking tragedies that befall good people. My kids see a fun shorebreak; I think broken neck. They see an idyllic mountain pool and a waterfall; I think leptospirosis. And broken neck.

Another time I was driving my daughter to some outdoor activity and launched into one of my patented advisories based on some woeful story I'd covered, when she cut me off: "Yeah, yeah, I know, someone died ... "

On the flip side, many a good reporter has been ruined by parenthood. Journalists-slash-parents can lose the stamina and singlemindedness required for the job. Or worse, they start writing about their kids all the time.

Children can suck the ambition right out of you. But that can be a good thing. They remind us there is life outside work and that goodness, love and beauty are as close as home.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com.