Mommy bloggers genuinely unsettle me. As a publicist, I frequently engage with these types of blogs and have become familiar with the names and ages of children I’ve never met. I can tell you which pricey baby moccasins are considered the latest trend for little feet that have a knack for shedding them. I’m aware of how to create DIY bow ties for adorable boys, despite never having had any experience with cute little boy necks. And I’ve learned all the chic ways to dress like a model immediately post-birth, should that ever come in handy.
However, it’s not the impressive domestic skills of mommy bloggers that intimidate me; it’s their overwhelming love for their children. Their devotion is so profound that they feel compelled to write, post, tweet, and celebrate every tiny milestone with the world.
Right now, I’m pregnant, and I already feel a deep connection to my baby. I cherish her kicks and daydream about her personality. Yet, I don’t find myself wanting to run through a meadow singing my heart out, Sound of Music style, while sharing weekly bump updates. Instead, I often feel like binge-watching Netflix, indulging in cookies, and stressing over the ever-growing to-do list before I welcome this new life. I can’t help but compare myself to these blogging superstars bursting with maternal enthusiasm.
Throughout my pregnancy, a looming question keeps surfacing: Will I, too, become a mommy blogger once my baby arrives? Writing is my passion, so will this little one become my muse, leading me to share posts about our zoo adventures, complete with discount coupons? (And yes, you can access that coupon if you follow these 17 simple steps!) Will I inundate Instagram with countless pictures of her in flower crowns, making everyone else feel like their own lives and kids just don’t measure up? (A public service announcement: can we please retire the flower crowns and those overly staged photo shoots?)
What kind of love drives people to do all this? I’ve never felt it, and that terrifies me. I love my husband dearly, but I don’t spend hours crafting cute accessories for him or staging elaborate photo shoots. I adore my dog, yet I don’t slap a sticker on his back to mark his monthly milestones and photograph him enjoying his favorite activities, like licking his paw and chewing the same tennis ball daily. I know this baby love will be different and much stronger, and it’s intimidating.
I suspect my therapist would say my fear stems from knowing that this intense love can also be lost. She would probably remind me to take a breath. Babies, like all things in life, come with no guarantees. There’s no assurance my child will grow up healthy and happy, nor is there a promise she will live a long life. Love is always a gamble, but parenthood elevates that risk exponentially. It’s hard for me to fathom how one can love someone so fiercely, knowing that things can go awry and that my heart could shatter in ways I’ve never known. I realize that mothers seem to navigate this emotional landscape every day, but whatever strength they possess eludes me right now. Loving someone that much is downright scary.
I find myself pondering when this extraordinary love will hit me. I already love my daughter, but I anticipate it will deepen when she’s in my arms. Will I be swept away by an overwhelming wave of joy and devotion upon seeing her for the first time? Or will it gradually unfold as I witness her first smile? At present, I’m just staring at my round belly while munching on chips to ward off nausea, without any overwhelming sense of motherly bliss. Is this normal? Is anything about pregnancy normal? Am I already a bad mom for voicing these concerns? The questions seem endless.
Pregnancy appears to be a time filled with more questions than answers. Doctors themselves don’t fully understand what’s happening inside my body. And don’t even get me started on Google, which can lead you to believe you have pregnancy-induced cancer or that you’re carrying a three-headed monster based solely on the color of your nipples.
Eventually, I’ll have to relinquish control over these uncertainties and trust in a higher power, which I know I should do, though it’s not always simple. I must accept that this pregnancy is real, that I am already a mother, and that I’m about to experience a love unlike anything I’ve encountered. It will be alright. In fact, it will probably be wonderful. I will still be me—not some caricature who hosts product giveaways for laundry detergent. I’ll be myself, enriched with more love and a delightful little sidekick to share life with, whether I choose to blog about it or not. Right? I certainly hope so.
For further insights on fertility and pregnancy, you can explore resources like NHS’s guide on IVF and check out our blog on boosting fertility supplements. If you’re looking for postpartum attire that new moms recommend, this list is a great start.
In summary, mommy bloggers inspire a mix of admiration and anxiety in me. While I grapple with my emotions during pregnancy, I know that love is powerful, albeit risky. As I navigate this new chapter, I look forward to embracing the journey—blogging or not.