I got pregnant with Intrepid at nineteen. I had only voted in a single federal election, and was just old enough to finally buy cigarettes legally when I had to quit in the hopes my fetus didn't sprout a carcinogenic third kidney. I replaced my daily caffeine fix with a prenatal vitamin big enough to swallow my face, and stoically said goodbye to a belly without stretch marks.

I did everything a responsible expecting woman in her twenties, thirties or forties would have done, and yet I felt judged. It only got worse after the baby came shooting out of my birth canal*- not because I was an inadequate parent, but because some people assumed I would be.

Young woman + baby = clueless 

Young woman + baby = careless 

Young woman + baby = throwing her life away

I knew I didn't like math for a reason.

At one point a "friend" told me my newborn baby was cute, but I had just ruined my life. Needless to say, she is no longer on my non-denominational holiday festivities greetings list.

Anyway, the point is that some people judged me, and, lacking the confidence that would eventually come with age, I jumped on board the Maven Hate Train.** I became my own harshest critic. I figured if I could just nip anything questionable in the bud before it was noticed by the outside world, I would avoid the social unpleasantries of being that mom. I tried extra hard to do everything right, from what outings we took to what crafts we did to what our bedtime routine was. I read every book, every parenting article, every professional opinion I could find on the still-blooming internet. I worked at it and streamlined it and perfected it - and completely exhausted myself.

As my fragile emotional state soon revealed, it's a slippery slope to care what other people think. One day you're just trying make sure your kid has clean clothes on before playgroup and the next you're posting pictures of the preschool curriculum you're implementing to get your child reading before kindergarten because he is clearly advanced, can't you see, and you're a really good mom despite the holes in his matching socks, ok, everybody? 

It all seems like such a long time ago. These days I'm firmly rooted in my thirties, have three kids and lots of people around who aren't of the point-and-glare variety. I'm not the worried young mom I used to be.

However...

Yesterday I went to the grocery store and bought the following items:

- 1 package of hot dogs
- 3 boxes of Kraft Dinner (or Mac n' Cheese for you Americans)
- 4 Snickers bars

Nope, not a single fresh or even remotely healthy item in my hot little hands. And for the first time in a very long time, I worried what people would think. Being the fat girl with a bushel of calorie-rich chemicals at the checkout brought back a truckload of insecurities. What would the skinny lady in front of me think as she unloaded her organic veggies? What was the man behind me with all the steel cut oats thinking right now? And I didn't even bring my own bags. Dammit. High fructose corn syrup packed for me in sea turtle-suffocating plastic? Impending social disaster, people. I was a displeased tweet just waiting to happen. I was certain my confident exterior was going to crumble any minute.

I'm pretty good at striking up conversations with complete strangers - and most of the time they don't even end with "please leave me alone." I wondered if I should casually mention I had bought nothing but greens and local fruit the day before. Maybe they'd like to know that I purchased so much fresh food I had used up all the reusable bags I always carry in the trunk of my hybrid. I could always use the very real excuse that getting up at 5:30 to hit the gym makes me forgetful by mid-afternoon. All valid, all true, and all nearly excusing the artery-bursting items being loaded into a crinkly bag of global warming.

I consciously decided not say a word. I chose to stand there and feel every bit of that embarrassment without excusing away what I was doing. The mortification eventually passed.

What makes this kind of awesome is that I didn't try to prove myself worthy of those purchases to anyone. I've come a long way.

I've realized that people are going to judge no matter what, and that is completely out of my control. If you're judging me and I'm not doing something totally reckless, like rolling my baby in cocaine***, it's likely because you're not too happy with you that day. If you can't see beyond the immediate situation - like the young mom with a tantruming toddler or the chubby chick who's buying hot dogs - and recognize that these are just snapshots of a much bigger picture, then that's your prerogative. Maybe you doubt your own choices and therefore need to defend them by looking down on those who make different ones. Maybe it's how you deal with a bad day, or a shitty boss, or your dying mom. Who am I to say? I don't know your story. I can't do anything about what you're thinking. And besides, it's not up to me to change how you see things, it's up to you.

I'll be the first to admit that I get judgmental sometimes too; usually when I make a face and send off a text when someone who could be perfectly gorgeous walks by wearing tasseled UGGs and an awful skirt (this might have happened yesterday). But these days I always ask myself why I'm reacting so strongly to someone else's decisions. It's a flag that I'm not in a good state of mind. In the end, it's energy better spent elsewhere.

People, we should never feel like we need to justify our choices to anyone. It doesn't mean our decisions are always the best, but they're ours and we will certainly make the best out of them.



*I like to pretend the baby came shooting out of my birth canal because it makes the decision to have two more children who also didn't shoot through my birth canal more justifiable.

**The Maven Hate Train is basically the complete opposite of the Maven Love Train, in that it serves store brand coffee, has no disco cars, and plays reruns of The Bachelor. It is, truly, Hell on wheels.

*** That was about the most reckless thing I could think of right now. I do not speak from personal experience. Please don't judge me. Or do, I guess. Whatever.