Hey y’all. Mother's Day is upon us. So let's talk about something I know some mamas and mamas-to-be would really, really appreciate.

Last night, I headed to a ladies’ night with some long-time good friends, plus a guest of one of those good friends, whom we’d never met before. One of my good friends, D, is expecting, and when she got there, she tasted both my wine and my mojito (yes, I was double fisting – I’d ordered a wine but when the others’ mojitos arrived I had to have one of those instead, and on half-price ladies’ night, I could make that call) in considering which, if any, beverage she herself might enjoy.

Our guest gasped in dismay, and explained that drinking while pregnant is dangerous. We nodded – we have heard that once or twice – and explained that having reviewed the research and consulted with our own physicians, we were comfortable with our choice to have a beverage. The guest wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let it go, trying to put things “in simple terms so we would understand,” and explaining, repeatedly, that she would not make that same choice. We – and I say “we” because I also enjoyed some bevs whilst pregnant, and also consider myself well-equipped to make decisions about my and my children’s health – kept trying to make our own point: that our risk tolerance level, to say nothing of our personal decisions, was none of her damn business. She demurred. Things devolved quickly.

And so it goes. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a conversation like this. At a party where several people were happily smoking pot while my pregnant self was in the room, my host expressed solemn disgust when, citing my delicate condition, I declined a second glass of wine. I believe the quote was, “What’s wrong with you?”

So much y’all. So much is wrong with me.

Last year, I had a few very precious hours to myself while waiting for Bret to arrive home from a trip to China, and I popped into a hair salon to see about fixing my hot damn mess of a head. I was seven months pregnant, yuuuuuuge, and about to head to a tropical destination wedding. Mama could use a little pick me up, is what I’m saying. The woman there chastised me for coming, urged me to speak to my doctor – over my stammering and incredulous assurances that I had – and refused to color my hair. I left in tears.

A well-meaning family member has, on more than one occasion, queried whether I should be eating the food – whether I was “allowed to have” it – as I was putting it into my mouth.

I should note that the conversation last night followed a conversation in which the guest – a medical student, which at least accounts for her own (misplaced, IMHO) confidence in her data – scoffed at my saying I didn’t have plans to travel to the Caribbean any time soon because of Zika. I explained I’m not taking birth control – sorry for the TMI – and she suggested I was being comically overcautious. Which is not to say that she’s wrong and I’m right, or to point out the inconsistency in our positions: It’s to point out the nuance in my own, which reflects my understanding of the risks involved, and the determination I have made about my own choices. I could make the same point via my strong discomfort with listeria risks and my laissez-faire attitude toward my extreme weight gain in both pregnancies. (50 pounds-plus, peeps. Both times. I’d like to thank ice cream and peanut butter-slathered Oreos, without whom this award might not have been possible).

I might have cited the CDC’s recent recommendations vis a vis Zika, but they’re the same clowns who recently recommended all women of child-bearing age refrain from alcohol unless they’re on birth control – so I guess I’ll have to rely on other reputable sources. (Here’s a take-down of the CDC reccos involving alcohol and people with lady bits, if you’re interested).

I know many of my dear readers would never have a glass of alcohol (sorry, small side rant: A beer, a glass of wine and a cocktail have the same amount of alcohol, assuming you’re not dealing with a generous pourer) while pregnant. I know many would. I don’t care either way, and I trust each and every one of you, even when your uterus is in full operational mode, to be able to use your brain.

And so, I entreat everyone to please assume that the pregnant woman you are judging has thought more about the topic, done more research into it, and more carefully weighed her choices than you have. In the line at Starbucks, don’t look askance at a woman who who’s ordering her venti latte. First, assume she knows more about caffeine, its risks, and the amount in a latte than you do, off the top of your mutual heads. And second, let’s face it: She, like you, has probably been so immersed in the pervasive culture of fear, paternalism and hysteria that surrounds pregnancy in this country that it’s probably a damn decaf anyway.

I am aware that these topics are complicated. Yes, there are lines that we might all cross to save a child, or hopefully, even an adult, in a dangerous situation. We might take steps to remove lead from a child’s water supply, for example, or to mandate vaccines for children in public schools. I might pontificate about the latter one, you betcha.

And these admonishments often come from a place of good intent. (Though, would that the general populous would express the same jealous guardianship over the children in the world that they express about my pregnancy. And yes, breastfeeding status). Again, that’s why I ask for a presumption of intelligence, in both senses of the word: that the pregnant person to whom you’re talking probably has a total handle on the situation.

If I had the time, I’d make a flow chart that might look something like this: Is it possible this person with a functioning uterus also has a brain? If yes, might, just might, she have read more books on this topic, or more recently consulted a physician who is her physician than I have? Am I a public health official/her obstetrician/anyone about whose opinion she should care? If no, do I have real knowledge on a topic about which there is real danger or am I relying on a sort of general cultural sense that pregnant women must immediately abstain from any and all manner of things I deem frivolous or vain because if they don’t they don’t care about their babies? If yes to that last, perhaps consider keeping your opinions to yourself.

So. I know this was long, and yes, ranty. It's been building for a while, and last night, watching my friend bear the brunt of it, I had had enough. If you’ve made it all the way through, I appreciate it. I hope you check back in Monday, when our little man turns 1!

Love ya. Oh, and if you’re curious about where I get a lot of my info on pregnancy and risks, I recommend starting with Emily Oster, who is superb at acting like pregnant women have minds.