A Tale of Mommy Guilt
Speaking only for myself, I have so much mommy guilt I’ve sometimes been rendered paralyzed by it… needing a good energy clearing, a stiff margarita and perhaps a box of chocolates to get back to my right mind.
Today’s #tuesdaystale provides a tiny insight to one of the many, many times I’ve royally messed up with my kids.
My guilt trips (and mess-ups) started early.
Almost immediately after I realized I was pregnant the first time, inner guilt-trips began with force:
“Did I drink alcohol before I realized I was pregnant?” (Does alcohol on the night of conception count? 😬)
“How does eating an extra large oatmeal raisin cookie EVERY DAY when pregnant affect brain-development?” (I was abundantly aware of how it affected waist size). 🍪
“Do I really have to swallow this many vitamins?” (How could I be so selfish to even ask that?) 💊
You get the idea.
As if it were yesterday, I remember the date-night where my beluga-whale sized pregnant self and my husband decided to go to Earl’s for supper. I was craving their Hunan Chicken dish (angelhair pasta with veggies, shrimp and hot peppers).
The Earl’s menu had cute little chili peppers alongside their spicy dishes. This particular dish had 🌶🌶🌶 beside it, indicating it was a potentially very spicy dish.
The description on the menu suggested you could order it with anywhere from 1 to 5 hunan peppers.
Now, something you should know is that I LOVE spicy food, had eaten this dish before, and liked extra peppers.
So, when the waitress came to take our order, I asked her if I could have more peppers than the menu suggested.
She said something along the lines of: “I’m sure I could ask the chef… How many extra were you hoping for?”
Me: “Uhm… I’m thinking about 15”
Her: 😳 “Ah, well, that is more than most ask for… but I’ll put the order in and let you know if there is any issue with it.”
Me: “Perfect. Thank you”
About five minutes later, the waitress returns to our table:
Her: “Uhm, I’m so sorry to bother you, but the chef wanted me to come out and confirm that you wanted FIFTEEN hunan peppers.”
Me: “Yes… is that a problem?”
Her: “Oh no. He will do it — he just wanted to be sure that you know they are very spicy.”
Me: “Oh yes. I’ve had this dish before.”
Waitress: “Ok. Thank you”
Our meal came. It was delicious.
I don’t remember what Jack ordered because I was too busy snarfing down my yummy dish. The little peppers were hot and spicy.
Admitting defeat, I ended up leaving 2 of them on the dish when I was done — the heat was pretty intense by the end.
I didn’t — and still don’t — like to admit defeat.
I blamed my pregnancy for my uncharacteristic wuss-ness.
The waitress came back to ask how our meal was, clear our dishes, and inquire about dessert.
As she took my plate, she looked down and commented: “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone EAT the peppers before!”
Me: “Really?” (Like, why else are they in the dish?)
Her: “Oh no! Most people tolerate the spice from the peppers infused into their dish… they don’t eat the peppers. I’m really impressed.”
Me: 😳
Inner voice Me: <I’m a weirdo. Here is more evidence>
Inner voice Me: <Did I do something wrong? … cue generalized guilt>
Me: “Oh wow. That’s interesting. I guess I have a strong stomach”
Her: “Yes! I believe you do!”
All was well for the rest of the evening. Went to bed. Got as comfortable as I could (given the size of my stomach)… And fell asleep.
About 2am I woke up to incredibly uncomfortable kicking sensations.
I mean, my baby felt like she was doing a kung-fu workout in there.
🥋
I hadn’t felt that much activity, well, EVER… It was so uncomfortable — and incessant — that I woke up fully. I started to think about reasons for why she would be kicking so hard… and it dawned on me:
My daughter was trying to ESCAPE the fiery inferno that was my stomach.
🔥
A fiery inferno caused by my EATING 13 OF THE 15 HUNAN PEPPERS THAT NORMAL PEOPLE DON’T EAT AT ALL.
🔥
I became convinced that I had possibly murdered my child in vitro — or at the very least caused irreperable brain damage and/or organ failure.
To say I was panicking is an understatement.
It was the early days of Google, but I got on my incredibly-slow internet at 3am to ‘research’ things like “Can you kill your baby by eating hot peppers?” and “What are the lasting cognitive impacts of eating spicy foods while pregnant” and “Should I go to the ER?”
<I was a psychologist and it was a classic case of ‘a little knowledge is a dangerous thing’>
It felt like hours of research.
And then I finally found it: ‘research’ (or maybe it was just a factual account) about the MILLIONS OF WOMEN who live in countries where spicy food is the absolute norm. And their children are not born brain-damaged.
To say I was completely convinced is a lie… but it was enough to satisfy my anxiety into retreating enough for me to go back to sleep.
Restless, but sleep nonetheless.
The king-fu shenanigans had settled down a bit (I fought the anxiety that told me it’s because her fight to live had ended).
😳
So, you see, my experience with ‘mommy guilt’ started well before my first daughter was born.
And when she was born with a feisty attitude and a head of coppery-red hair… well suffice to say I ‘knew’ it was a result of the fire in my stomach that night.
I wish I could say this was the end of the ‘bad mommy’ stories. It is only the beginning.
Ask me about the time I sent the same daughter to kindergarten with turkey sandwiches smothered in Sriracha sauce.
🤷🏼♀️
(It’s no surprise she has a zero tolerance policy for spicy food).
Mommy guilt never ends.
Maybe we are never doing enough.
Maybe we are doing too much.
Maybe we don’t care enough.
Maybe we care too much.
Maybe we think we’re funny, and we’re really not (my teen girls can attest to this).
Maybe we’re doing the best we can.
Maybe that’s enough.
And for the times where I fail to do my best, this post (along with most of my other #tuesdaystale’s) will provide written evidence for my girls in years to come when their therapist asks them the inevitable “Tell me a bit about your mother …”
As always, I love reading your comments, hearing about your experiences and creating a sense that we are all in this thing called life together 💜 Note: This post was originally posted on as part of a weekly series entitled #tuesdaystale on Facebook.
Originally published at https://www.tanyatinney.com on July 31, 2020.
