By: Ava Thompson
Updated: Feb. 8, 2021
Originally Published: Nov. 21, 2016
It was absolutely stunning. The colors? A serene blend of beige, white, and a gentle blush pink. Pastel bunting adorned the window, a plush rocking chair sat invitingly, and the crib matched flawlessly with the decor. It seemed like this room had jumped straight out of Pinterest, transformed into reality. I stumbled upon it during a morning scroll on Facebook and couldn’t help but chuckle at the new parents and their creativity. But then, jealousy hit me like a freight train.
I mean, she had a crib. We didn’t own one, matching or otherwise. From the start, we knew our little one would sleep beside us, so we attached a co-sleeper to our queen bed in a cluttered, non-Pinterest-worthy master bedroom.
We opted for cloth diapers, so there was no adorable diaper cake at our baby shower. In fact, we didn’t even have a baby shower, as we lived far from family, and our friends were all broke grad students. Sure, we transformed an old Ethan Allen wet bar into a changing table, but that was more about functionality than charm. It didn’t coordinate with the worn-out rocker we snagged on sale. We basically crammed baby essentials into a yellow room we hadn’t bothered to repaint, along with a dresser from a deceased aunt and some Dr. Seuss decals.
I know we made the right choices for our family. I’m not the Pinterest type, and the thought of spending money on a fancy baby bedding set makes me cringe. Yet, I can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness over my not-so-perfect pregnancy and my son’s less-than-ideal babyhood. This sadness often morphs into intense jealousy. Perfect nurseries make me fume. Diaper cakes? They make me feel stabby.
My pregnancy was anything but Pinterest-perfect. I dealt with morning sickness, and I experienced prenatal depression and anxiety, which led to many panic attacks over Chick-Fil-A sweet tea. Amidst all this, with a midwife insisting I control my blood sugar, I certainly didn’t feel that pregnancy “glow.”
And I know I’m not alone. A quick Google search for “percentage of people who hate being pregnant” will plunge you into a well of shared misery. There are articles discussing why women should be open about their experiences, why they dislike it, and even tips for coping. One article is simply titled: “Pregnant and Miserable: Prenatal Depression.” According to the American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, 14-23% of women will face some form of depression during pregnancy. That’s a significant number of women who aren’t preoccupied with curating a nursery or basking in the limelight at a baby shower.
But as the fog of depression lifts, and you find yourself holding your little one, you can’t help but see those picture-perfect Pinterest nurseries and wonder, “Why didn’t I do that?” The radiant glow on a mother’s face can feel like a jab. She shines, while you feel anything but. You didn’t post those heartwarming Facebook updates showcasing blowing curtains and neatly arranged baby toys. Instead, like us, you simply tossed things into a room and hoped everything would turn out alright.
I understand that life is far from what social media portrays. That pristine nursery will soon be stained with baby messes, and the mother will inevitably spill milk on that pristine rocker, even if she’s not breastfeeding. Babies will cry, and mothers will repeatedly approach the crib. A Pinterest nursery doesn’t shield anyone from the realities of parenthood. That perfectly styled baby outfit with a massive bow? It will likely meet with an explosive diaper incident. It’s a shared experience that unites us all.
Yet, there’s still a part of me that longs for that Pinterest-perfect nursery. It symbolizes the moment when parenthood felt like a beautiful dream: feeling that gentle baby kick while imagining tea parties and mother-daughter outings. It’s a hopeful vision of the adventurous journey ahead, filled with joy and soft pastel serenity.
Some of us get those moments, while others do not. And for those who didn’t, it’s perfectly okay to feel envious of those who did, even if it’s all a bit messy and painful. So, embrace the envy. Just remember, it reflects more about your own journey than the pristine nursery you see online.
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Summary
This article explores the author’s feelings of jealousy towards perfect nurseries while reflecting on their own less-than-ideal pregnancy experience. It acknowledges that life isn’t as polished as social media makes it seem and encourages readers to embrace their feelings without guilt, understanding that their journey is unique.