ETA: My baby is six months old and definitively not a boy. But I still wanted to put up all these pregnancy posts, as written, so I’m scheduling them to post twice a week for the month.

I look at nurseries on pinterest and I want to die (or think they’re all hideous).

I look at fitness models who are pregnant, slim, while maintaining their six packs all the way through 9 months and I berate myself for not staying skinnier.

I read mommy blogs about women who have studied up on childbirth, breast feeding, early child education, and I’m mad at myself for not making the time.

I look around my house and see the disastrous shape that it’s in and wish we were better at keeping things more orderly and less hurricane-y.

I hear of free activities and cheap baby sports classes that parents have access to in the U.S. and I feel trapped in Chile.

My friends tell me of lavish babymoons, or the trips they already have planned out for their babies once they’re born and I wonder how we make good money but are still poor all the time.

Basically, being pregnant has been a study in feeling woefully inadequate. Will my child turn out ok if I just wing it? Everything, the nursery, the education, the trips, the breastfeeding, all of it? I don’t know, but I guess I’ll find out.