I was bullied a little bit in middle school.  Not terribly, but enough to make me tell a teacher.  And it stopped.  For awhile.  Then it started again so I fought back.  And the kids who were doing the bullying told the same teacher and I got in trouble.

But it passed.  The kids were older and I ended up at a different school the next year anyway because I moved and by the time we all hit high school they were a bunch of burned out losers and our paths never crossed again.

Nothing awful.  Or abnormal.  Or life altering.

I got through high school just fine.  College.  My twenties.

And then I got pregnant.

I'll be the first to admit that a girl can get a little berzerker while she's knocked up, and take things differently than they were meant to be taken.  I don't think anyone who has ever been or crossed paths with a pregnant lady will challenge that fact.  And after you have the baby you are a total mess for a little while and everything makes you cry and wrenches your heart and makes you feel two apples tall and as smart as a wooden nickle.

...And then I got pregnant and people began taking liberties with their words.  Telling me anything they thought I should know.  Anything they felt.  About anything.  I think because we are inherently wired as pack animals, we do some primal things with one another.  That strange I-yawn-we-all-yawn thing, for one.  For another, pregnant women become public property.  It's disgusting the way some people treat public property.

***

Fact: I didn't "show" until I was about 7 months.
Fact: I went to the gym five days a week until the day I delivered.
Fact: I read a lot of books and asked a lot of questions because I wanted to know what was going on and what was normal or not so normal and what the best things to do at every stage are.  I'm high strung and anal retentive and a perfectionist.  It's what people like me do.
Fact: I only ate fruits and vegetables and whole grain breads and beans and nuts and dairy.  No junk.  No ice cream, cookies, candies, pickles, meats.
Fact: I gained 22 pounds.
Fact: I delivered early, at 37.5 weeks.
Fact: Jake was 20 inches long, 5lbs 12 oz.
Fact: Jake was jaundiced.  Lots of babies born early are.
Fact: Jake was skinny, but so were Dave and I when we were born.  Plus he was early.
Fact: Jake was breastfed.  Mostly.  At first.  He did get some formula and I'm totally okay with that.
Fact: I'm totally okay with the fact that Jake got some formula.
Fact: I'm not okay with the fact that Jake got some formula.
Fact: I'm okay with the fact that your baby got some formula.
Fact: I labored naturally for thirty some hours before I had an emergency C section.
Fact: It took me about ten minutes to lose the baby weight.
Fact: A few months to lose (most of) the flab.
Fact: Jake was marked a "failure to thrive" baby.
Fact: Jake was marked "perfectly healthy and normal" well before his first birthday.
Fact: Jake wasn't allowed any junk food until he was two.
Fact: Jake was allowed television before two.
Fact: There are lots more facts.

I tried to do everything in my power to assure that I would give birth to the healthiest baby my body could produce.  I wanted to do everything I could to stay in shape so I could have an all natural, drug free labor.  Also, I didn't want to struggle with weight after I wasn't pregnant anymore because I had a few close friends who were devistated with their new bodies.  I watched their self worth plummet and their femininity cloaked by emotion and baggy clothing.  I watched them be called fat, and call themselves fat and I saw what it did to their spirit and their marriage and their lives.  I don't think I could handle that.  So I ate well and exercised and got as much sleep as possible . 
After Jake was born I fed him on demand for months and months.  I continued to eat only healthy foods because I didn't want unhealthy stuff passed through my body into his.  I let him sleep when he was tired, and I stayed awake with him when he wasn't.  Mostly.  When I couldn't take it anymore, I put him in his swing and put myself in time out.  When he got a little older, I let him cry himself to sleep sometimes.  Sometimes I held him until he fell asleep.  I let him skip feedings, and later, meals.  I let him eat in the middle of the night if he was hungry.  I still do.

And on and on and on.  Me doing things to the best of my knowledge and ability and according to the most current up to date medical and social research.  I got a job in parenting so I could know more and do better.  I did everything I could to be better. 
Better than my mom and Dave's mom and their moms and all the moms before that.  And the friends and the sisters and the cousins and the cousins' sisters' mothers' friends and and and.

Isn't that what it's all about, in the end? 
No, not a competition.
Doing the best you can, every generation getting better than the last.  Isn't that what we strive for?

So those are some of the facts.
As I see them.

The opinions?
You can imagine.  If you are a parent-especially a mom, you've probably gotten them.  Whether you are a parent or not, you've probably given them.  They came hard and fast from places I never expected.  People I never expected.  Friends, relatives, strangers.  Coworkers.  Clients.  Grocery clerks.  Nurses.  Bus drivers.  Weirdos on the street.

Opinions like:
"You must be starving yourself. 
Your belly is too tiny, your ass too big.  Where's the all over fat?  Start eating fat.  Indulging. 
Going to the gym is bad for the baby.  For your body.  The things you think are healthy aren't, what you feel is unhealthy would be good for the baby
There must be something wrong if you look like that at eight months.  I looked like that at three months, and my doctor said I was perfect.
Is there something wrong?  With you?  With the baby?
Are you eating?
Why aren't you having a drink?  Just one drink.  One champagne toast.  It's New Years.
Is that coffee you're drinking?  I hope it's decaf.
Why aren't you eating organic yogurt? Organic tomatoes?  Organic everything?
Why aren't you doing yoga?
Why are you staying at home so often?
Why are you going out?
You aren't planning to stay in the city are you?
You won't go back to work will you?
You are getting on a plane?  That's risky.  I wouldn't do that.
Why don't you have a midwife?
Why don't you have a better team of doctors? 
Why do you struggle to see the doctor you chose?  You should go somewhere that's not in such high-demand.
Why do you have to go to the hospital? My babies were born at XYZ center.  They airlift you to your hospital if there's a problem, and you could have a tub birth at XYZ.
I wouldn't go to that hospital.  My mother died of a staph infection in her foot there.
Why don't you just get the epidural?  This is no time to be a hero.
Why did you have to have a C-section?  There is rarely a real emergency.  Doctors just do them so they can go play golf.
Why are you breastfeeding such a tiny child?  He's not going to gain weight fast enough.
Why are you so skinny?  You should stop nursing. 
You look awful.
You look tired.
Why are you giving that baby a bottle? 
I'd kill to be that skinny.  Maybe I should have a baby and only eat carrots.
Give him cereal.  In the bottle.  It will help him sleep.
Wake him up all day so he'll sleep at night.
Let him cry.  You'll spoil him.
Put him down.  He'll get used to being held.
Pick him up.  That's a shame that you let him fuss.
Give him Tylenol/Benedryl/a little brandy.  It will knock him out.
Where's his pacifier?  You don't let your baby have a pacifier? 
Don't worry about the car seat.  We didn't have them when we were little.
Don't wear your baby.  That's obnoxious.
Why did you stop wearing your baby?  Lots of people have arthritis but they still wear their babies.  Make the sacrifice.  It can't be that bad. 
Get a babysitter.  Go out. 
Why did you go out?  I could never trust my baby with a sitter.  Not until they can speak clear English.
Just give him a taste of table food.  Mash it up good. 
I fed it to him because he likes it.  You should see how happy he was when he tasted pudding/ice cream/candy.
Don't give him cow's milk before he's one.  He could die.
Why are you giving him eggs?  Peanut butter?  Fish?  He could die.
It's only McDonalds.  Let him have a treat.
You let him chose his ____?  If you let him start making choices you'll lose control.
You should spank him. 
What that boy needs is to be afraid of adults.  I don't like the way he stands up to people.  Fear = respect.
He isn't baptized?  What if there's an accident?  You are damning your own child.  (see also: You told him Santa is real?  Why would you lie to him like that? and: I don't think children should trick or treat.  You are teaching him that the devil is all about fun and candy.)
He watches television? 
He eats ____ but not ___?  What kind of kid is that?
He asks questions like ___?  I'd slap my boy if he dared questioned ___!

I could go on, but my battery is running low. 
Batteries.
My computer is dying and I'm starting to feel run down.

Every single one of these things were said to me, and they made me feel like shit and I'll never forget the words.  They bite and sting and hurt and tear apart the mothering instinct and the desire to do what is best for a mother and her child just to appease those around her..

There is this huge power struggle about who is right and who is wrong and when a mother does something that she feels in her heart to be the right thing to do for her babies (which is very very different from doing what is easy or what our frustration or anger can drive us to do or will quiet the child for a moment or will make us feel better at the expense of the child), it seems that there are three mothers behind her telling her that they wouldn't do it that way or they did X with their kid and that kid turned out fine.

Let me tell you something.  Your kid didn't turn out fine.  Your kid sucks.  It's a total asshole who has no idea how the world and the people on it works.
(Not you.  Your kid is great.  I'm talking to her over there.)
There were things that my mom did to me that made me not fine.  There were things her mom did to her that made her not fine.  I'm guessing the same holds true in your family.
There are things that I will do to my child that will make him not fine.  I aim to raise him in such a way that he will be strong enough to not make my mistakes with his children.  To work with his partner to be sure that he or she will not make his or her mother's mistakes with their children.

The things people say to mothers may be veiled in good intentions and "I'm just trying to help", but so often at the root it is a power struggle.  The old:  I'm right, you're wrong.  I'm better, you're worse.  I've been there, you're ignorant.
The old ways are better, doctors/therapists/social workers/book authors don't know what they're talking about.  I'm smarter than your doctor/therapist/social worker/book author because I've raised children and know how it really is.  I'm smarter than you because you're dumb enough to believe what's in books, what's on the internet, what's in your heart.
Do this because this is the way I raised you and this is what we do in our family.  In our circle of friends.  In our town.  In our faith.  In our culture.  It's the way we've always done them and always should.  To do things differently is to dishonor me/our family/our friends/our town/our faith/our culture/our ___."

It's bullying.

And if we give into some of this bull(ying) shit, our children will be the ones to pay.

It's high time that mothers band together, help each other and ourselves become educated, and become supportive of one another.  To stop telling each other what we are doing wrong and start sharing with each other how to do it right. 
We all do things that are wrong, and we all should feel comfortable asking for help.  The right kind of help.
We should all have an obligation to help one another change things around to find what's right for us and our families right now.  Not twenty years ago, three generations ago.  Times have changed and so should we.
We need to empower ourselves to take a stand against people who are doing things to our children against our wishes.  We can tell our friends and aunts and cousins and mothers (and uncles and husbands and partners and fathers) that we are doing things different and until she (or he) respects our ways, there will be no unsupervised contact with our child. 

We can.
And we can start now.