Our patriarchal society loves to place unrealistic expectations upon mothers, especially expectant moms. We’re told how to eat, how to sleep, and how to live every second of our lives in order to guarantee the wellness of our babies, and sure, most of the guidelines are common sense, but others require great sacrifices. We’re told to give up our passions – drinking, smoking, etc. – for nine whole months. And I made sure to do all of that for my first pregnancy, but my kid still came out annoying as hell. So, this time, I’m doing pregnancy on my own terms. Here’s why I refuse to give up doing the worm even though I am actively growing a person in my stomach.
Yes, it’s important not to flop around on your belly while a small person is in there, but have you considered that it’s also important to be happy? A baby can sense when your mood is bad, and prolonged prenatal depression can have harmful effects on your little fetus. The best medicine? Loud music, a dim dive bar, and a little dose of the ol’ worm. When I have a long day of literally growing an entire living being inside of me, the only way I know how to unwind is to roll my shoulders back, assume the pushup position, and get to flopping.
Does that make me a criminal? Does that make me a bad mom? Say it to my face.
Doctors have informed me that this much aggressive stomach-to-ground contact may be harmful to my baby, but I have a special connection to Harold (that’s the little fella’s name!), and I can feel him saying, “Go, Momma, go! Hit the floor, drop it low!” And nothing matters more to me than my precious little baby’s sweet wishes. If he says “jump,” I say “how high?” and if he says “worm,” I say “hold my shrimp cocktail.” And these days, he’s been saying, “Worm! Worm! Worm!”
Moms are held to such unreasonable standards: We’re expected to give up our passions, our jobs, even our lives for our kids, and doing the worm is all three for me. Yup, it pays the bills via an online Patreon where curious individuals can pay a small sum of money for a link to a livestream of me doing the snaggle waggle three times a day. You want me to bring a baby into this world without the promise of financial security? Fat chance! My kid will want for nothing, although medical professionals have informed me that he will also likely feel nothing if I keep doing the worm at such breakneck speeds.
At the end of the day, I know what’s best for me and my baby, and it’s doing a little boogie oogie every morning, noon, and night. Cowabunga!
