Why do they tell pregnant women not to drink alcohol, avoid caffeine, and skip raw or undercooked meat? It seems unfair. It’s such a sudden lifestyle change. I personally love my steak medium rare, my oysters fresh, and I can’t even wake up without coffee! And wine, oh my days! A good chardonnay with salmon pasta can ease the worst of my day’s stresses. I mean every day. I run a beauty business, and let me tell you, the ladies there are either trying to kill me or kill themselves, and I refuse to be the one dying. I have a baby in me, after all. These employees don’t follow instructions, don’t listen to a thing I say, and have brains like sieves. I can’t wait to replace them after I give birth, but for now, they’re just there, adding to my stress.

So you see why I need that chardonnay?

Anyway, I came to say I’ve been living my life as I want, and I feel fine. Great, even. I’ve never been pregnant before, but I’m definitely happier than Aunt Suzy ever looked when she was. And here she is, trying to tell me what to do. I’ll teach my child one day that there’s a lot of information out there, and it’s up to you to decide what’s useful.

I’m due in a few weeks, and my steak has never tasted better, my oysters still make both the baby and I kick with joy, and my chardonnay will be right by my side during delivery. A better companion than that man who put me in this situation and conveniently scheduled a business trip this month. But that’s not the point here.

Ahhhhhh

My baby decided she’d come early, and I wasn’t ready. My water broke out of nowhere, and suddenly I’m on this hospital bed, gripping the rails like they’re the only things holding me together. The pain comes in waves.

Waves that crash through me, unstoppable. The doctors say to breathe, but I feel like I can’t even remember how.

Another contraction hits, harder than the last, and I’m shaking, sweating. I can barely hold on. I thought pushing would come in stages, with breaks to catch my breath, but there’s no rhythm, just pain and chaos, and it feels like every second lasts an eternity.

And my bottle of chardonnay broke, too. I was holding onto it like some kind of lifeline, but now I’m left clutching cold metal and breathing through the emptiness, hoping I can make it through the next few minutes. They tell me to rest between contractions, but there’s no rest, just the haunting knowledge that another surge is coming. Wish me luck, because I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.

…

I did it! And they placed her on my chest. For my five seconds of skin-to-skin. I’d barely heard the words “congratulations” when she slipped away. She died in my arms, and I couldn’t let them take her, but they had to. They tried to wake her up, to bring her back to life, but I already felt her slipping away. And then, they began shouting for me to wake up, to stay with them. But I didn’t want to. I always do what I want, and right now, I want to stay in that place where she’s still with me. Like mother, like daughter.

In my dreams, I saw a man who asked a question I couldn’t answer. “Can you love someone and do things that hurt them? Can you love someone and let them hurt themselves?” And as I woke up, I couldn’t shake that question, and I felt like I didn’t know love at all.

I started spiraling. Maybe I should have listened to the warnings on my supplements, you know, those “consult a doctor if pregnant” warnings. I’d been taking them for so long that I didn’t think it mattered. My body was used to it. Maybe I should have switched my alcohol for a smoothie or sparkling water. Maybe I could have tried medium-well steak. Maybe someone should have stopped me.

They tell pregnant women to avoid alcohol because it increases the risk of miscarriage, stillbirth, and fetal alcohol spectrum disorders, which can cause developmental issues. They say to avoid high caffeine intake because it raises the risk of low birth weight. Undercooked meat can lead to infections from bacteria or parasites, which put the mother and baby in danger. Was I just blind to it all?

But no one around me cared enough to really say anything. They chose to look the other way, like Aunt Suzy’s occasional comments were enough to change my habits. My husband wasn’t even around for half of this. My employees? They don’t love me, either.

I know better than to expect anything from anyone, but if people claim to love me, why let me walk this dark path alone? If I was harming my body and my baby, why didn’t they intervene? If I was killing myself slowly, why didn’t someone pull me back before it was too late?

Do you really love the people you say you do? Do you love them enough to go against their wishes for their own good? Can you love someone and still hurt them? Or worse, can you love them and let them hurt themselves?