Ayelet Waldman has just written a book called "Bad Mother," in which she cheerfully describes the world of competitive mothering and the unattainable status of "good mother." She sums up today's mother-vs.-mother attitude with a non-family-friendly play on the 1970s catchphrase, to the effect of, "I'm OK; you aren't."

At last! An aspect of mothering in which I feel equipped to compete!

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I came to motherhood in woeful denial. My image of the job dated from my own childhood, which (and here I date myself) looked much like an episode of "Madmen": mothers complaining about housework over coffee, cake and the odd cigarette while their children played unattended in the yard.

As far as I knew, my duties for the first stage of motherhood -- giving birth -- consisted of:

1) showing up

2) wearing a little makeup afterward when my husband came to visit.

My first clue that the times had a-changed was when I discovered I did not have a "birth plan." Here the baby was not even born yet, and already I was behind.

A birth plan is the mother-to-be's in-depth script for the delivery, spelling out her choice for every option, from who will be present at the birth to what music will be playing (Handel's "Messiah"? Or Metallica's "For Whom the Bell Tolls"?).

A key part of the birth plan is the "focus object" -- something to rally the mother's flagging resources during the most trying parts of the process. Most women select inspirational scenes -- mountains or photos of their kids.

I chose a snapshot of my pet weasel.

Score on the good mommy scale: 0.

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Things got worse from there. I made it plain to my doctor that I wanted anesthesia during labor. I had heard of "natural labor" and assumed that other women were laughing about it as I was. Wasn't natural labor what we, as a species, had been trying to get away from for most of history? And what, I wondered, was so wonderful about nature? The plague is natural. So are arsenic and adult acne. Give me drugs!

But later, at the mommy play dates, I learned that all the women forwent or tried to forgo anesthesia so as not to put the baby at any risk of side effects, while I had thought only to avoid my own suffering. My score on the good-mommy scale: -2.

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After that, it was a rapid free fall of choices that ran afoul of good mommyhood. I quit nursing in my baby's third month. Let me tell you, if you want to quickly and efficiently clear your social calendar as a new mother, then announce at the new-mother play group how you much you hated breastfeeding and how you've quit.

Not that I am bitter.

Score: -4.

Selfishly opting for a shower each day instead of saving the environment, I also chose disposable diapers instead of cloth.

Score: -6.

At the new-mother play dates, I learned that it was not enough to feed, change and hold my infant. I should be prepping her for the global workplace. Some mothers had their infants signing the names of the planets in order from the Sun, with a special sign after Pluto to indicate scientific uncertainty about its planetary status. I was just hoping my kid would sit up and sleep through the night.

Score: -10.

I did not buy organic ingredients to make my own baby food, but instead bought commercial brands from the store.

Score: -11.

I did not decorate my child's nursery with a suite of new furniture and matching accessories.

Score: -12.

I allowed my little one to be outside between the hours of 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., when the sun's rays are strongest.

Score: -14.

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Things let up a bit in toddlerhood, as mothers gave in to TV, juice boxes, Cheez-It crackers and sugared breakfast cereals. But still there was the matter of whose baby monitor did the best job, who had the best schedule for naps and who managed to meet all the good-mommy criteria while simultaneously being the most frugal.

In "Bad Mother," Ms. Waldman, also known as the wife of Pulitzer Prize-winning author and University of Pittsburgh graduate Michael Chabon, touches on many current trends in power mothering. She writes about mothers competing on how bad they are, since they feel they can't compete on how good they are, and here I've already fallen into the trap -- we mothers will compete on anything.

Maybe if I do absolutely nothing, my junior-genius will somehow get into Harvard and make a billion dollars before she's 30. Or, I could take a stab at proactive parenting ... maybe make one of those cute chore charts ... knit my son a sweater ... write down a daily schedule ... oh, who am I kidding?

Let's hope that whatever we mothers do, we all meet again ... in that big admissions office in Cambridge, Mass.