My Tomato, the Interweb, and Other Thoughts on the Mommy Wars

I have had three cravings so far this pregnancy, and I could be crucified for expressing desire for every one of them. They are: soft serve ice cream, root beer and tomatoes. I recognize that two are unhealthy choices, so I try to limit them. But it is might hard to resist walking down to the dairy bar for a nightly small twist, as I did the entire summer I was pregnant with Lulu. I could even write it off as not totally damaging, since the walk is almost a mile. Ok, closer to a half mile. But here's the thing: soft serve machines are apparently breeding grounds for the listeria, the same bacteria that makes deli meat off limits (unless heated to steaming, which = YUCK) And listeria can kill your baby. (Maybe the protesters should go picket the deli!) So root beer, well, that's full of sugar (but not caffeine: I get that via a 12 oz bottle of coke. Yes. I do.) And now, the tomato. Friggin' salmonella. At least the ones on the vine are still safe, and I will keep eating them until I shit my brains out.

So clearly, I know what's what. But should you happen to ask the interwebs if you can eat soft serve, you WILL be sorry. The knocked up boards of our favorite Fertility site (aka Fert*lity Fri*nd) are filled with fellow preggos laying in wait. If you mention a soda, or an iced coffee, or something with aspartame, you will be treated like a reckless fool, who has no idea she is ENDANGERING HER BABY. I can only guess what warnings I would get about my tomato and mozzarella salad ("Isn't that a SOFT cheese???")

It's like boot camp for the mommy wars. It gets us geared up for comments about strangers "raising" our children, and snickers about wanting to stay home. I think it comes from sheer terror. Pregnancy has become so restrictive. It gets to the point where if you listen to all the don'ts, you can become paralyzed. Not that some of the don'ts aren't totally valid. They are. But in our efforts to minimize risk and protect ourselves from loss and pain, we have become too vigilant. So we can't just enjoy being a fat preggo on a picnic bench with a root beer float. So when something goes wrong, GUILT is there, ready to remind you of the tomato or the coke or the cold cuts. And our fear, as it so often does, manifests itself in attacking others.

So I'll have my occasional soft serve, with a side of worry. And you have your sushi. And I really don't give a shit. Unless my tomato, still on the vine, has salmonella after all.