Bad mummy

The world is conspiring to make me feel like a bad mother – three months before I actually become one. Earlier this year, the government helpfully revised its guidelines as to how much booze a pregnant women should drink during what can, at times, feel like a very long nine months. Nothing. Not a drop. Was this advice based on any new scientific evidence? Nope – it was based on the assumption that pregnant women are so air-headed that they couldn’t possibly remember the recommended weekly limit.

So that’s one thing. Then there’s the never-ending list of Things Mummy Can’t Do. Don’t eat pate, mayonnaise, ice cream or cheese, and don’t think about petting that cute cat rubbing itself against your ankles. Don’t go anywhere near peanuts, and while you’re at it don’t lie on your back for too long. Don’t go gardening unless trussed up in a full head-to-toe body condom in case there’s something nasty lurking in the soil. Watch those vegetables – they might, rather shockingly, have come into contact with Evil Soil at some point too. But don’t blame us if you get constipated – you do need to eat enough roughage, dear, and you’ll give yourself piles if you don’t look after yourself. You know, I even had one midwife tell me off for a spot of gentle jogging – it might ‘jiggle the baby about’ too much, she reckoned.

This week pregnancy hysteria reached ridiculous heights with the news of a new stick to beat mummy with - research that argues that if mum-to-be indulges in the odd plate of chips while pregnant she’s automatically dooming her child to a lifetime of obesity. ‘Eating for two puts unborn child at risk of junk addiction,’ screamed the Guardian.

I confess. The odd chip has passed my lips. As have several packets of salt-and-vinegar crisps and - whisper it - some chocolate. I even went out to a pudding club at the Market Restaurant and guzzled my way through five puddings in one sitting (though I did feel a bit nauseous afterwards and spent the night with a sick bucket on hand, just in case). Does this mean you’ll be a little on the chubby side? Does it heck.

Anyway, I read down to the end of the report and discovered that the research had been commissioned by The Royal Veterinary College. That’s right, a group of people who are very good with cats, dogs, rats and the odd bird. But probably not quite as experienced when it comes to up-the-duff mums of the human variety.

So, sweetness, if you do turn out to be rather on the large side, you should know two things. First, I’ll still love you. And second, it’s not my fault. Now, where did I put that glass of Pinot Grigot…?