The good pregnant woman

I've already been boning up on the good mom/bad mom debate. I'm already preparing to enter the battle in sixish months, armed and ready.

Maybe it's because I wasn't planning this whole thing, but I wasn't at all prepared for the world of preggo judgment I've been thrust into. I've had to put together makeshift armor without giving myself time to strategize or lift weights or sharpen my swords. Four months in, though (three conscious ones), I've at least been able to put up a temporary defense. I've at least begun to size up my enemy and recognize her strengths and weaknesses.

I've come to realize there are really three types of pregnant women. There's the small minority, the women who truly don't give a shit about the wellbeing of their babies or themselves. I'm talking about the women who snort coke, shoot up heroine, smoke crack, all the while patting their bellies to say hello. And then there's the polar opposite, the women who have pocket-size copies of What to Expect When You're Expecting in their Marc Jacobs purses, who avoid soft cheese and tuna fish like the plague, who roll their eyes at the pregnant women who say they "have" to drink coffee, who applaud their superior willpower over these monsters, who troll BabyCenter.com waiting to pounce on anyone who dares make a "Help Me Quit Smoking!" post.

And then there's me. The woman who easily gave up her crack addiction (joke), who had to work REALLY hard to quit smoking, who still drinks some coffee and Diet Coke, who lived with a massive acne outbreak for about three weeks before giving in and using benzoyl peroxide, who regularly eats deli meat, sometimes even without heating it to steaming hot in the microwave, who just ate a tuna fish sandwich because I really wanted one.

Sometimes I feel guilty for the fact that I'm not the perfect pregnant woman.

I remember when I first found out and was trying really hard to quit smoking, I kept thinking about this girl at my work and her story of kicking the habit. She told me she was (like me) one of those people who actually loved smoking, who had no desire to quit. And then she got pregnant, she said, and she quit just like that (to this she snapped her manicured fingers). The urge to smoke was magically gone, she said, the second she saw that positive sign on the pregnancy test.

Every time I gave in during those first few days, I'd think about her and let the guilt wash over me. She has pictures of her adorable daughter all over her desk. She talks about nothing but that child. She loves her enough to give up smoking, just like that.

And then, two weeks ago, I found out she lied. Talking to one of her clothes friends at work about how I quit smoking (she was in the middle of trying, too), she let it slip just how hard it had been for the snapping-her-fingers girl, how she had dragged her on secret smoking breaks daily until she started showing and could no longer keep up the ruse.

I've worried from the begininning that I'm destined to be a "bad mom." Apparently, I care more about myself than my child, because I'd rather eat tuna fish if I want it or use benzoyl peroxide face wash (something my doc okayed, by the way), despite the tinylittleminiscule risk, all to satisfy my selfish desires.

The preggo police on Baby Center would have me think so, anyway.

I remember one woman who made a post on there just to villify another pregnant woman she'd seen smoking in her car. And then the hormental hordes lined up to add their two cents, calling her nothing short of Osama Bin Laden's evil twin.

I just don't--can't--really work like that. Yeah, it might look a tad irresponsible, the big 'ole pregnant woman puffing away in her car. But if you used to be a smoker, you wouldn't automatically send her to the dogs. Maybe she DID quit. Maybe this is her first cigarette in months, in which case, you should be CONGRATULATING her on making it this far. Maybe something terrible just happened to her, and she fell into a moment of weakness. Maybe her dog just died. Maybe she doesn't care as much as you, in which case, thank god you don't have to be her! Maybe you should be watching the road instead of staring at the pregnant woman in the car next to you, because isn't that what a perfect pregnant woman would do? Are you wearing your seatbelt? Are your hands at ten and two??

All I know is that quitting smoking was hard enough. I already feel like a slave to this baby. I already have put its needs first--but it's not your (the world's) place to justify what those needs are. That responsibility belongs to me. And my doctor. And Google.

Pregnancy, like parenting, like life, isn't so black and white. And it might do the judgmental, perfect mothers-to-be in the world some good to recognize the innumerable grays.