“Digesting While Gestating” by Kate Preziosi

My first visit to my OB-GYN after learning I was pregnant went something like this:

Doctor: …just high-mercury foods and alcohol. That’s all you have to avoid.

Me: What about deli meats?

Fine.

Sushi?

Totally fine.

Soft cheese?

As long as it’s pasteurized.

Lox?

Yep.

Oysters? 

Just avoid high-mercury foods and alcohol.

Coffee?

I’m not answering any more of these questions. 

[Long pause] 

Kombucha?

Until now, my relationship with food has been undramatic. I’ll try almost anything. I have an iron stomach that’s served me well on a few adventures abroad. I come from an Italian family, so cured meats, cheeses, and breads were one of my early love languages. Before I got pregnant, I rarely gave the next meal any thought. When hunger struck I would  explore the fridge or Seamless unburdened. My greatest concern was factoring in the quickest delivery time. 

After I got pregnant, I had that panicky feeling of sitting down to a test that I hadn’t prepared for. I knew that there were rules: no alcohol, no raw fish, no caffeine. Right? Wrong-ish. It depends on what guidance you’re getting from your doctor. Mine takes a fairly relaxed approach, with her only directives being ‘no mercury, no alcohol.’ Others are more cautious. Meanwhile, there are newer pregnancy guides, like Angela Garbes’s Like a Mother and Emily Oster’s Expecting Better, that break down the sometimes-shaky science behind these long-held commandments. They counsel that many things are just fine in moderation. Like wine. And coffee. And sushi, as long as it hasn’t been sitting out in the sun three days past its expiration. 

Even though I have just two instructions from my doctor while this future human lives rent-free in my body, and updated literature to help put my mind at ease, there’s still a lot of conflicting guidance out there that can be hard to ignore. The employee behind the gelato counter cautions me against the tiramisu flavor because it’s made with a little bit of liqueur. A friend asks knowingly at brunch, “How much do you miss lox?” even though I was planning on ordering it on my bagel. Another advises me to avoid lemongrass tea because some studies suggest it may be harmful to the baby. I was getting the tea because I’ve already had coffee today and I’m trying to limit my caffeine intake. Just like that, what I thought was a well-informed decision is thrown into doubt. 

My wonderful sister-in-law gave me a book called Real Food for Pregnancy: The science and wisdom of optimal prenatal nutrition, which both she and her sister read and found helpful during their pregnancies. Inside are more than 250 pages of guidance on “foods that build a healthy baby,” detailed weekly meal plans, an exhaustive list of supplements, exercise dos and don’ts, toxins to avoid, and stress management tips. I decided to manage my stress by not reading it, and instead judged the book by its cover: a beautiful photograph featuring an artfully arranged tableau of salmon, carrots, oranges, cabbage, nuts, avocado, berries, eggs, butternut squash, and parmesan cheese. And there you have it: my grocery list.

I signed up for a weekly newsletter that tells me about the baby’s week-to-week development (Eyelashes! Fingernails!). The email begins with a reference point for how large the baby is. This week I’m having a jar of Nutella. The newsletter also comes with links to articles about the hidden dangers of the produce aisle, lists of (probably) safe and (potentially) unsafe herbs, and warnings to ‘lay off the sugar.’ There is, as Garbes puts it in Like a Mother, the sense of a “subtle (and not-so-subtle) finger-wagging”: the implication that, if you’re not on top of the very latest information, you’re already a “bad mom.”

Setting aside the anxieties of navigating the cultural and medical advice out there, there has been some joy in eating and drinking my way through this pregnancy. My newsletter tells me that, as of this week, the future person in my uterus is developing its sense of smell and taste. The flavors from my meals are working their way from my mouth, through my bloodstream, and into the amniotic fluid surrounding the baby. It’s an excuse to get out of the apartment and visit the eastern Mediterranean place around the corner that we love, or scoop extra wasabi onto my chopsticks. I love blue cheese. It was one of my earliest favorite foods. I could have it with anything: ravioli, grilled peaches, salad pizza, a chocolate bar. My partner hates it. With every bite of blue cheese, I’m growing an ally who will someday be my eyes and ears and make sure it never gets left behind at the grocery store.

I’ve become a loyal customer to some of the non-alcoholic beverage stores that have opened in New York City over the last few years. I’m no fan of gin, but there’s a company called St. Agrestis that makes a “Phony Negroni” that is so good, I’ll have to give the real thing another shot postpartum. The Lagunitas IPNA has all the hoppy, fruity, bitter notes that you could ever want from the real thing. The Grüvi Pale Ale fits right in with a burger and fries. I haven’t dabbled in “wine” yet. Something about that feels unholy. (Update: I have, and it is.)

Every time I go in to see my doctor, I have a new handful of food questions for her. I know I should try my best to ignore the noise, and pretend her simple ‘no mercury, no alcohol’ mantra is tattooed onto the insides of my eyelids. But I can’t help it. The stakes of getting it wrong are kind of high. She usually looks at me like I have a head injury and asks quizzically where I’m hearing these things. Lemongrass is fine. 

I gesture wildly to out there.

At least in a few months, I can go back to absentmindedly perusing Seamless and getting whatever looks good. Then again, maybe not. This week’s newsletter cautions that there are “5 things to look out for” in the baby food aisle. We’ll see what our pediatrician has to say.

---