The Scorsese Baby Daddy Myth & Early Pregnancy

I was sitting on the aggressively beige tile floor of a suburban Target bathroom in 2016, wearing Lululemon leggings that definitely had a crusty salsa stain on the left thigh, staring at a plastic stick I had just peed on. My heart was pounding so hard I thought my ribs were going to crack open. I was twenty-eight, my period was late, and my then-boyfriend (who's now my husband, Dave) was waiting in the car listening to an NPR podcast about interest rates. If you had asked me right then what I wanted out of life, I probably would have told you I wanted more passion. More drama. I wanted the kind of chaotic, unpredictable romance that pop culture always shoves down our throats. Like, I wanted the mobster movie romance.

Flash forward to now, and literally everyone on the internet is losing their minds over that SZA song. You know the one. The lyrics talk about the period being late again, wondering if she cooked a baby, and wanting a partner who's basically a volatile, cinematic mobster. And I get it, I really do. The whole meaning behind a Scorsese-style baby daddy is this intense, all-consuming, dramatic connection that makes you feel alive because your nervous system is constantly on fire. But oh god, let me tell you from the other side of having two kids—when you're sleep-deprived and leaking milk and haven't showered in three days, that vibe is a literal nightmare.

Anyway, the point is, we need to talk about why the boring partner is actually the holy grail.

The romanticization of the absolute worst guys

I don't know who decided that we should all aspire to date guys who punch walls or disappear for three days, but pop culture has really done a number on us. We grow up watching these movies where the guy is emotionally unavailable, legally compromised, and probably carrying a weapon, and we're like, yes, that's the peak of romance. We equate anxiety with passion. We think that if a guy makes us cry in a restaurant parking lot, it means he cares so deeply that he just can't handle his emotions. It's such crap.

And the song makes it sound so cool, right? Having this intense baby d who's addicted to the drama. It’s painted as this ride-or-die situation where you're both just crashing out together against the world. You hear the lyrics and part of your brain is like, yeah, maybe I do want a guy who would start a bar fight for me. Maybe that's what true love looks like when you're young and reckless and trying to figure out what a baby daddy even is supposed to be in the modern era.

But when you're actually pregnant? When you're throwing up your prenatal vitamins into a kitchen sink and your back feels like it's going to snap in half? That mobster energy is the absolute last thing you want in your house. You don't want a guy who brings chaos. You want a guy who knows how to operate the washing machine without having to call you from the basement to ask what the delicate cycle means. You want Dave. Dave, who color-codes his socks.

Anyway, if you actually miss your period, just take a test with your first morning pee and call your OBGYN to get a blood draw.

What my doctor said about all this stress

When I was pregnant with Leo (who's four now and currently obsessed with eating plain hot dog buns), I had massive prenatal anxiety. I was terrified of everything. I was worried about money, about my career, about whether I was going to be a terrible mother. And I remember sitting in the doctor's office just sobbing into a paper towel.

My doctor, Dr. Miller—who has seen me at my absolute lowest, including the time I brought Leo in because I thought his belly button looked "too round"—told me something that completely shifted my perspective. She didn't use big medical words or quote the WHO, she just looked at me and said that when I'm constantly stressed or living in a chaotic environment, my body is basically flooding the placenta with cortisol. She told me that a baby's brain architecture is genuinely affected by the stress levels in the home, which sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie and honestly terrified the hell out of me.

She made it sound like if I didn't chill out, I was going to wire my kid's brain for anxiety before he was even born. I don't know the exact science, it has something to do with toxic stress and neural pathways or whatever, but the takeaway was clear. Stability isn't just nice to have; it's practically a medical requirement for growing a tiny human. You don't want your kid coming into the world feeling like they're just an accessory in your dramatic mobster movie life, or some weird e baby you just log on to feed. They need calm. They need predictability.

If you're in that early, terrifying nesting phase and you're trying to build a peaceful environment instead of crashing out, maybe just browse some really soft, calming things here instead of texting your toxic ex. Seriously, put the phone down.

The boring partner checklist

So, instead of the Scorsese fantasy, here's what actual, real-life romance looks like when you've an infant. This is what Dave does, and why I'd choose my boring accountant husband over a cinematic bad boy every single day of the week:

He researches car seat safety ratings at 11 PM. There's nothing hotter than a man reading a manual on side-impact collision testing while drinking peppermint tea.
He doesn't get offended by my postpartum rage. When I yelled at him because he breathed too loudly while I was trying to latch Maya, he just quietly backed out of the room and returned ten minutes later with a fresh cup of coffee.
He handles the gross stuff without needing a medal. Blowouts that go all the way up the back? He just takes the baby, runs the bath, and deals with it. No drama. No cinematic speeches about his manhood.
He knows my coffee order. And he knows that if it's iced, the ice needs to be filled to the exact top of the cup or I'll silently resent him all day.

Buying stuff to cope (honestly, it helps)

I cope with stress by online shopping. I'm not proud of it, but it's what it's. When Maya was born, I was determined to only buy things that seriously worked and made my life easier, because I had already learned with Leo that a lot of baby products are just plastic garbage that make annoying noises.

My absolute, all-time favorite thing we got for her was the Flutter Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit. Let me paint a picture for you. It was a Tuesday, I had slept maybe three non-consecutive hours, and I was wearing a nursing tank top that smelled strongly of sour milk. But I put Maya in this little bodysuit with the flutter sleeves, and suddenly, I felt like we had our lives together. We went to a coffee shop. I spilled an entire iced latte down my own leg, but she sat there looking like a tiny, comfortable angel. The fabric is so insanely soft, and because it's organic cotton with just a tiny bit of stretch, it seriously goes over a baby's giant bobble-head without them screaming bloody murder. The lap shoulder design is a big deal when you're dealing with a squirmy seven-month-old. I bought it in three colors and basically rotated them until she grew out of them.

Then there's the Panda Teether. Listen, it's fine. It's a teether. The silicone is nice and soft, and it's super easy to wash when it inevitably gets dropped on the floor of a grocery store. But to be totally honest, Maya mostly used it as a projectile. She loved the shape of it, but she mostly loved throwing it at our golden retriever's nose. Half the time, it was lost under the passenger seat of my Subaru. If your baby genuinely keeps teethers in their mouth, it's great, but for us, it was just okay.

What did save my sanity, though, was the Rainbow Play Gym Set. I'm not exaggerating when I say this wooden A-frame gave me exactly fourteen minutes of peace every morning. That's enough time to drink a cup of coffee while it's still somewhat warm. It's not one of those awful plastic things that plays flashing electronic music and overstimulates the baby to the point of a meltdown. It's just calm, natural wood with these little hanging animal shapes. Maya would just lay on her mat, staring at the little wooden elephant, kicking her chubby legs, and I could sit on the couch and just exist for a second without someone touching me. Highly think.

Stop romantizing the crash out

SZA sings about rolling up her problems and choosing chaotic coping mechanisms over calling her mom. And man, I feel that in my bones. Early motherhood is so isolating, and the hormonal shifts are so violent, that sometimes you do just want to crash out. You want to scream in your car. You want to cause a scene just to prove you still exist outside of being a milk machine.

But instead of burning your life down or wishing for a partner who brings more volatility into your home, you just have to find safe ways to lose your mind. Text a mom friend who gets it. Go sit in your car in the driveway and listen to sad music. Drink an iced coffee in the shower. Do whatever you need to do to ground yourself, because that little baby needs you to be the boring, stable rock they can rely on.

It's not cinematic. No one is going to make a movie about a mom who successfully gets her toddler to eat a vegetable and then goes to bed at 8:30 PM. But it's real life, and it's honestly pretty great.

If you're ready to ditch the drama and just focus on building a really soft, safe, and entirely boring (in the best way) nest for your little one, you should absolutely explore the organic baby clothes collection. Your baby's skin will thank you, and honestly, folding tiny, soft clothes is deeply therapeutic.

The messy questions everyone is Googling

What do I seriously do if my period is late and I'm totally panicking?

First of all, breathe. Seriously, unclench your jaw. Go buy a two-pack of pregnancy tests from the pharmacy (don't buy the cheap ones if you're just going to squint at them and panic more). Take it first thing in the morning. If it's positive, call your doctor. Don't text the toxic guy you're seeing until you've honestly processed the information yourself, ideally while drinking water and sitting down.

Can relationship stress seriously hurt the baby while I'm pregnant?

According to my doctor, yeah, kind of. Your body doesn't know the difference between "I'm being chased by a bear" and "My boyfriend hasn't texted me back in two days." It just pumps out stress hormones, which can cross the placenta. So if you're in a situation that constantly makes your chest tight, you need to find a way to step back and find some calm, for your own sanity and the baby's developing brain.

How do I cope when I feel like crashing out?

You have to build a village that doesn't consist of dramatic people. When I feel like I'm going to lose my mind because the dog threw up and the four-year-old is refusing to wear pants, I don't need a partner who escalates the situation. I need someone to hand me a coffee and take the kid. Find mom friends, join a local group, or get a therapist. Just don't isolate yourself, because that's when the spiraling happens.

Is it bad that my partner is really, really boring?

Oh my god, no. Boring is the absolute goal. Boring means predictable. Boring means they pay the electricity bill on time and know how to install a car seat without throwing a wrench across the garage. Cherish your boring partner. When it's 3 AM and the baby has a fever, you don't want a mobster, you want an accountant.