I have an admission to make. Before I got pregnant, I always kind of rolled my eyes when I heard people talking about all of the pregnancy judgement that came their way.
No more. I’m now eight months pregnant and the judgement happens regularly.
I’m not sure why! Maybe I’m just particularly obtuse or don’t care about my fellow humans enough. I cannot imagine making a comment on what someone is doing.
(Okay, maybe once. Another admission: once in early pregnancy when I was feeling awful I nearly told off a woman who was smoking in an enclosed multistorey car park. She wasn’t (visibly) pregnant, but the smell of the smoke made me feel awful and I just saw red. My husband dragged me away before I could say anything. But other than that…)
The other weekend I went to Sainsbury’s to do our weekly food shop. I love this Sainsbury’s by us – it’s got everything we need and is less scarily chaotic than the big Tesco. Once they opened a new till for me when they saw I was pregnant and struggling to stand in the queue for too long. Also the clothes are awesome and I really should stop buying them!
I got the usual big shop. It’s a mix of healthy and unhealthy, to be honest. I’d like to say that we have wonderful diets, and we do manage to get a lot of good food in there, but we do also enjoy our crisps, cake, pastries, etc. (I can feel your pregnancy judgement growing – how dare she? Crisps?!)
So imagine the situation. I’m standing there with a trolley piled high with a good mix of food. Some ready meals because, eight months pregnant. Can’t always be bothered to cook. Lots of yoghurt and cheese, some fruit, veg (fresh and frozen), and then Pringles, some cakes, bread, etc. Your usual weekly shop.
I think to myself, hey, my husband might like a beer tonight. I don’t drink (even pre-pregnancy, never had the taste for it) and he’s hardly a heavy drinker. He goes out one night a week and has two pints then, and usually has a beer on one night each weekend. He likes his IPA. So I roll my trolley and my big pregnant belly over to the booze aisle, and debate over various IPAs for a few minutes. Select one, put it in the trolley.
Then I become very aware of two ladies having a conversation about three feet away from me. It’s one of those conversations that you’re meant to hear.
Judger One: She’s buying beer. That’s disgusting.
Judger Two: Ugh. How awful. I pity that poor baby.
Yes, by all means, pity my poor baby. Poor baby with a father who had a total of three beers in a week.
Honestly, even if the beer had been for me, who cares? Maybe I was planning to dilute it with lemonade and drink it over the period of a week. Maybe I was planning to drink the whole thing in one evening. None of their business either way!
But, as a mature and sensible pregnant lady, I said nothing. Just pushed my trolley onwards, beer included, paid and went home. Where my husband enjoyed his beer.
So, that’s the latest pregnancy judgement I’ve received. What about you?