I’m a Bad Mom – I Burnt the Pizza

Disclaimer…this is a story from last summer, when I was pregnant (aka hormonal/emotional wreck)

Soooo…some of you may know this, but when a women is pregnant, certain things can really get to her.  

It can be anything really – it just depends on the moment. For me, random things would make me cry instantaneously.  Like, when my mom mistook my NAVY BLUE cardigan for black (alluding to the fact that my outfit didn’t match), or every time I got a random Facebook request from a person I knew but was never really friends with JUST because they found out I was pregnant (ok…that didn’t make me cry, but it really irritated me).

Anyways…I had my mega melt down when I burnt a pizza. 

But first…let me explain the context of my ultimate break down.

1) Obviously, I was pregnant

2) My pregnancy was unplanned

3) Because of #2, I was undecided as to whether or not I was going to parent or make an adoption plan

4) It was the middle of the hottest summer of MY LIFE which = cranky me

Basically…after a very dramatic first trimester (see The Book), I had a lot of things going on.  I was emotionally healing from a very self destructive lifestyle, I was attempting to forgive myself for this lifestyle, I was UNBELIEVABLY self conscious about my growing belly, I was trying to maintain a job and figure out how to graduate on time while having a baby, I was trying to figure out what to do with the baby in general -raise her, or choose adoption…..so needless to say I was kind of a wreck.

It was a long, tiring, extremely hot day at work.  My parents were gone, my best friend and my brother and I decided to make pizza for dinner. I went ahead and took charge of the pizza.

I mean..there were only 2 instructions:

-Preheat oven to 350

-Bake pizza for 30 minutes

how hard can this be?? 

Honestly…a 2nd grader could do this.

Anyways I put the pizza in the oven on the top rack (mistake). Set the timer and proceeded downstairs to watch TV (mistake)

Long story short I never checked on the pizza until the beeper went off, and I was downstairs unable to observe/smell anything burning.

So…by the time we all got upstairs and I pulled out the pizza, half of it was black. Burnt.

All I remember after that was my friend (jokingly and not meaning any harm) said “Geez Raquel, if you can’t make a ready bake pizza you’re going to have a tough time being a mom.”


Dagger to the heart.

Melt down in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

The tears start welling up behind my eyes.

I force down a slice of pizza and pretend I have an important phone call..leave my friend and my brother and proceed to bawl my eyes out.

For the women who have been in my shoes…they know that making a decision between parenting and adoption is probably the HARDEST, BIGGEST decision anyone ever has to make.  Seriously.

I essentially was deciding what the best life would be for my baby.

My deciding factor: Salvation.

Which life would get my baby the heaven.


As parents, that is your sole purpose – getting your children to heaven.

Now…as a recent boy crazy party girl, you can see that my confidence in myself even getting to heaven let alone ANOTHER HUMAN BEING getting to heaven was pretty low.

If I am to be honest…I was really doubting myself.

Motherhood is no small task.

Being a mom (being a good mom I should say) means understanding unconditional love, self sacrifice, patience, patience, and more patience.

I don’t have what it takes.

I was instead filled with self-hate, shame, embarrassment, and anxiety. On top of that, I was 21, single, still in college, and living at home.  Not exactly “Mom of the Year” credentials. 

So, basically, I was DESPERATELY needing some affirmation on whether or not I was even CAPABLE of being a mom, let alone a good mom.

The words ” if you can’t make a ready bake pizza you’re going to have a tough time being a mom,” were ringing through my head.

I can’t be a mom. I can’t even make a pizza! (I know…it sounds melodramatic, but keep in mind – lots of pregnancy hormones!)

I can’t do this. What have I gotten myself into. No one believes in me. I don’t even believe in me. I can’t be a mom, I can’t be a mom. 

I remember walking outside on our deck, face red and splotchy, tears streaming, and looking up at the stars just wondering why.  Why did I have to be pregnant? Why now? Why not when I was ready?

I just want someone to TELL me I’ll be a good mom.  I need to hear it.  Someone please believe in me and TELL me they believe in me. 

Fast forward to today.

I made my own homemade (not ready bake) pizza.  It was perfect.  My 5 month old daughter happy as can be.  Babbling and drooling away.  My mom walks in the kitchen.

“She’s really talking a lot!”

“I know, she’s so cute”

“I think she’s saying ‘you’re a good mommy'”


One thought on “I’m a Bad Mom – I Burnt the Pizza

  1. I was lucky to miss the burnt pizza.
    I was lucky to eat the second pizza, best ever.
    I am lucky to witness a great woman, and even better Mom.

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