Every night I crawl in bed with my five-year-old daughter until she falls asleep, which takes forever, because she usually comes down with a sudden attack of itchies, followed by a demand for a story (sometimes I can get away with reading one), then the Our Father, and then she fidgets around awhile til she finally settles into sleep. The last few nights, just as sleep is about to take me, she breaks into a loud wail.

“I feel so guilty,’ she sobs.

Guilty? “Baby,” I say, “what could you be guilty of?’

The first night she confesses, ‘I wrote on Ms. Lisa’s floor.” Ms. Lisa is her babysitter and personal Mary Poppins, the one who puts band-aids on my daughter’s booboos and fixes her hair much cuter than I ever can.

‘Did she fuss at you?”

“Noooooo”

“Did you say you were sorry?”

“She doesn’t know. And I feel soooo guilty.” A little stunned, I shush her until she finally calms down to sleep.

The next night, the same scene, only this time she confessed running through my sister’s garden after the cat. My husband came in, kissed her on the head and told her she was a good girl and God knew she was a good girl. She seemed to accept that but still cried a little. The third night of this, I couldn’t even understand what she was guilty of, but she started wailing again. I told her to fold her hands and say this prayer, “Jesus, please forgive me for everything.” That settled her right down. She hasn’t been gripped by a guilt attack since.

I am amazed. We don’t beat this child. She’s never been to Catholic school. Never heard about venial and mortal sins. Never contemplated all the horrible things she’s done while staring at the nails hammered into the plaster hands of the statue of Jesus hanging on the crucifix in her classroom. This is the little girl who goes to “Jesus Loves Me This I Know” Methodist Sunday school. Their coloring papers explaining Easter pretty much skip over Good Friday altogether.

Yet here in my baby daughter are the throbbing seeds of lifelong guilt. Where does this come from? I’m beginning to think maybe it’s hereditary, buried deep in the genetic code, like the menstrual cycle and childbirth pain, inherited from Eve.

That bitch.