Pack Your Bags for a Mommy Guilt Trip

On this blog, I've tried to keep you in the loop, make you laugh, and give you a glimpse into the trials and tribulations of bringing a human being into the world. Today's blog focuses more on the latter. Here's a glimpse into the neurosis that is my brain, from time to time.

My sister and brother-in-law were in town this past weekend. Coincidentally, Matt Wertz - one of our favorite singer/songwriters - was also in town for a rare LA show. Perfect! Without a moment's hesitation, I purchased four tickets and eagerly anticipated the chance to show my family a good time at the Troubador - one of the most legendary concert venues in LA.

I can't be sure (because my memory is mush these days) but I believe I momentarily considered if a 5-months preggers chick would even be allowed in (Knocked Up, anybody?) but quickly countered with:

1. I'm in my 2nd Trimester and feel great!
2. Matt Wertz is soooo mellow! It's not like I'm going to see Metallica! I mean, Matt writes lyrics like "You keep distracting me with that beauty" and "Daylight sings all that morning air brings."
3. I seem to recall reading once that concerts are A OK for baby on the way! It's pretty cushy in there, what with all that fluid, muscle, etc. In another words - I provide lots of padding (thus the 8 extra pounds I clocked in at my last appointment). 

So fast forward to last Sat. night. With $15 in parking paid, quick entry due to our smartly pre-printed tickets, and no trouble at the door (although the bouncer did look at my stomach and exclaim loud enough for everyone to hear ... "WHATCHA GOT IN THERE? NO, NO, LET ME GUESS. A BOY!!!!" ... we were all set for a great night.

Right away, the Sesame Street song "One of these things is not like the other" started playing in my head. For starters, I was the ONLY pregnant woman looking for a fun night on the town in West Hollywood. And secondly - I win for oldest chick in the place. In fact, my sister and I might have been the only non-undergrads. But it wasn't until I saw the "ear plugs $2" sign when the anxiety started to kick in. But convinced all would be right in the world when cutie, soul-searching Matt Wertz took the stage, we settled into the four remaining seats (go us!) and looked forward to a great night.

Only a few minutes in, I started to FREAK out about the noise. Don't get me wrong .. this was no rock concert, but I'm the type that turns the volume down on the radio when I'm looking for an address, so pretty much any amplified sound can send me reeling. In seconds, I was Googling on my Blackberry ... "can you go to concerts 22 weeks pregnant" where I was quickly schooled in endless streams of grey-area advice (which typically comprises most pregnancy guidelines.) This drives me nuts! The advice went something like this:

• At 22 weeks pregnant, your baby has fully functioning ears and can hear noises and voices from the outside.
• In fact, some studies show that the mother's voice and music bass sounds are even AMPLIFIED in the womb.
• Your baby should be OK hearing loud noises from the outside, but if you spend 8 hours in a noisy environment at work, you absolutely should change jobs.
• Bottom line? You probably shouldn't stand in the front row at a concert, but it shouldn't be a problem, although, concerts generally aren't recommended for pregnant women.

So of course, I'm more confused than ever, and absolutely cursing the drummist every time he confidently shows off. When I found myself praying - literally - to "make it stop" I remembered that I'm a big girl, and that as a big girl ... errr .. responsible mother that is ... I have choices. So, at the risk of ruining my family's time, I excused myself to the sound-proof bar to watch the concert on a little TV instead. Every once in a while I popped in for the more mellow songs of the show, but for the most part, tried to sit out the louder songs.

I did everything I could to minimize the impact, but still, I could not (and still cannot) shake this mother's guilt feeling. I found myself bargaining with the baby, and maybe even God, making promises like, "please make your little baby ears be OK ... from now on, I'll only eat organic, work out everyday, start doing the prenatal yoga I've been avoiding ... anything!" Oh the agony!!!!!!

While sitting in the sound-proof room, lamenting the loss of my "mother of the year" award, I decided to console myself by digging up the baby's last sonogram picture on my phone. Yes! That will make me feel better, I thought to myself. How reassuring to see the cute baby girl in all her 20-week glory. Perfect! I hadn't looked at it in weeks -- this is fun! And then ... as her picture transpired ... it all came rushing back to me.....

Our lovely little one tends to put her hands near her face. In this particular photo, it looks like she's - but of course - covering her ears. On the heels of subjecting the poor thing to much louder than usual noise, I sat staring at our sweetheart, laughing at the irony, and on the verge of tears, in awe of her sweet vulnerability.  It was just too perfect. 

The panic was likely needless ... and in hindsight perhaps even a little dramatic and silly, but still - the experience truly catapulted me into the mind of a mother. What responsibility! They're so helpless and totally dependent on us. It's exciting, but truly overwhelming at the same time. This experience showed me my propensity to over analyze and beat myself up over everything, which isn't healthy for me or the baby. I can only do my best and love this little girl with all my heart! I pray that I will be good at this though .. this sweet little baby girl deserves it and I already feel that I'd do anything in the world for her!

Meantime, suffice to say my concert-going days are going by the way side, making room for prenatal pilates, long walks, Netflix and reading my stack of parenting books. But I hope this taught me an important lesson, not just about doing the right thing for your children, but about grace, and realizing that there's no perfect parent despite the expectations one places on themself.