Apparently, according to my doctor, I have already been a bad mom—and the baby isn’t even here yet.
There are plenty of things I was supposed to do during this pregnancy that I either didn’t do, didn’t do consistently, or just flat-out ignored.
For starters, my skincare routine? Basically nonexistent. Exercise? Let’s not pretend. I also definitely didn’t wear my compression socks for as long as I probably should have.
I was also apparently supposed to eat more protein. The problem is that this baby has decided that meat is unacceptable unless it is somehow disguised as a sandwich. Chicken? Sometimes. Anything else? Absolutely not. So if the baby doesn’t want meat, I’m not exactly going to wrestle with my unborn child over a steak.
I also didn’t heat my lunch meat. Yes, I know. The pregnancy police are coming for me.
I didn’t play classical music to my belly either. I played my music. Sometimes loudly. Apparently, I’ve heard that loud music can affect the baby’s eardrums in the womb, so add that to my growing list of offenses.
I drank herbal tea. I drank coffee. I drank coconut water. I drank orange juice. According to my doctor, these are all supposedly terrible choices for me. I’m still trying to figure out how coconut water became the villain, but apparently even hydration has rules now.
And then there’s the gestational diabetes.
Supposedly, I have it, yet I’ve eaten cake, cookies, and ice cream during this pregnancy, and my glucose numbers have still come back normal. I’ve even made my own soda with seltzer water and sugar-free syrups because apparently I needed to find a way to recreate the experience of drinking a fancy soda while still pretending I’m being responsible.
I’ve eaten seafood. I’ve eaten sushi. I’ve eaten lettuce. I’ve eaten eggs—even though eggs have been recalled at various points during this pregnancy. I’ve eaten Mexican candy that has apparently been found to contain lead. At this point, I feel like I’ve managed to violate an entire pregnancy handbook.
And then there are the baby things.
I’ve bought things for the baby before she was born, which my parents insist is bad luck because infant death is a thing. Apparently, I’m supposed to wait until after the baby arrives to prepare for the possibility that she’ll actually need the things I’m buying for her. That logic has never made sense to me, but here we are.
I’ve also driven while pregnant enough that my stomach has basically been sitting on the steering wheel. Probably not ideal. But when you’re trying to get somewhere, you’re trying to get somewhere.
So when I look back at this pregnancy, I realize I haven’t exactly been the picture-perfect pregnant woman.
I didn’t have the perfect skincare routine. I didn’t exercise like I was supposed to. I didn’t wear my compression socks enough. I didn’t eat enough protein. I didn’t heat my lunch meat. I didn’t play classical music for my belly. I drank coffee and herbal tea. I drank orange juice and coconut water. I ate cake, cookies, ice cream, sushi, seafood, eggs, lettuce, and questionable Mexican candy. I bought baby stuff early. I played my music loud. And yes, I drove with my stomach practically touching the steering wheel.
And somehow, this baby is still in there, growing away, apparently perfectly content.
Maybe pregnancy isn’t about doing every single thing perfectly. Maybe it’s about doing the best you can with the information, energy, appetite, and circumstances you have at the time.
Because if pregnancy has taught me anything, it’s that there is always going to be another rule you didn’t follow, another food you shouldn’t have eaten, another thing you should have done differently, and another person ready to tell you about it.
If this is what being a “bad mom” looks like, I guess I’ve already started preparing for motherhood.
And honestly? I’m pretty sure I’m going to keep disappointing the parenting police.
