Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood: The Good, the Bad, and the Scary (2 page)
Authors: Jill Smokler
Tags: #Parenting, #Humor, #Motherhood, #Marriage & Family, #General, #Topic, #Family & Relationships
SCARY MOMMY
Gallery Books
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Copyright © 2012 by Jill Smokler
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
First Gallery Books hardcover edition April 2012
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Designed by Julie Schroeder
Scary Mommy logo designed by Jill Smokler
Illustrations by Amy Saidens
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-4516-7377-7 (Print)
ISBN 978-1-4516-7378-4 (eBook)
For my children, Lily, Ben, and Evan.
Thank you for giving me the
greatest gift of all: motherhood.
I love you more than you can imagine.
Thank you for purchasing this Gallery Books eBook.
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Chapter 1:
Being a Scary Mommy
Chapter 2:
THIS
Is Supposed to Be Beautiful?
Chapter 3:
Yes, You’ll Shit on the Delivery Table
Chapter 4:
Are They Really Letting Me Take This Thing Home?
Chapter 5:
Paying for the Nine-Month Binge
Chapter 8:
Subjectively Revolting
Chapter 9:
There Are No Sick Days in Motherhood
Chapter 10:
Grilled Cheese, Squared
Chapter 11:
The “Perfect” Picture
Chapter 13:
The Biggest Baby of All
Chapter 14:
I Like You Best . . . Today
Chapter 15:
I Hate Other People’s Kids (Not Yours, of Course)
Chapter 16:
This “Vacation” Sure Is a Lot of Work
Chapter 19:
Searching for Mary Poppins
Chapter 20:
The Xanax Approach to Parenting
Chapter 21:
The Twelve-Foot-Deep Death Trap (aka the Pool)
Chapter 22:
Didn’t I Already Graduate?
Chapter 24:
The Aching-Ovary Epidemic
Chapter 26:
More Mommy Confessions
I am not a writer.
Sure, I wrote this book, but I am not an
actual
writer. At least, I don’t think of myself that way.
I’m a graphic designer by trade, and I took some time off from work when my kids were babies. I knew I’d eventually have to go back to a salary to help pay the bills, but I was going to milk living in yoga pants and not showering until dinnertime for as long as I possibly could. There was nothing about wearing heels and lipstick to an office that I missed, but the slothfulness did come with a cost. While I certainly didn’t miss the
work,
I missed having something—anything—to myself. Endless games of peekaboo and board books were not as fulfilling as I thought they would be; I felt like I was drowning in boredom and lame nursery rhymes. So, on a whim, I started a blog.
It seemed like as good a solution as any: I’d be able to keep a baby book of sorts for the kids—kind of a modern-day love letter—and it would give me something to focus on between laundry, diaper changes, and grocery shopping. Plus, it meant I wouldn’t have to send those annoying picture-filled e-mails to friends and family. What did I have to lose? Nothing, it turned out, but I had no idea just how very much I would gain.
I wrote about my struggles to get the “perfect” photo of my children and my frustrations with the terrible twos. I shared cute little pictures and art projects and stories, but I never dreamed that anyone not closely connected to me would ever read them. But a few weeks in, something amazing happened: I got a comment from someone
other
than my mother or my best friend. Someone, from thousands of miles away, who had somehow found and related to me. I clicked on her name and found that she had a blog of her own, where she, too, shared her views on motherhood and parenting. They were different from mine but fascinating to read about. From there, I clicked around and found that there were hundreds, thousands of moms writing about their lives and views. It was a whole wide world I’d accidentally fallen into. And I was hooked.
As my site grew, so did the sense of community. Where I once felt alone in my feelings of exhaustion and imperfection, I suddenly had other moms from all around the world understanding and relating to me. Likewise, the honest thoughts about motherhood that had existed only in my head started creeping up on the blog. I began to consider my posts as facilitators for the larger discussion that took place in the comments. People added their own experiences and stories, and I laughed and cried and learned from them. We all have stories to tell, and I loved that people were using my space to open up with their own.
A few years after starting my site, I added an anonymous confessional, sensing that there was so much more my readers might say if they could do so without leaving a username or picture. The reaction was amazing. Some confessions were sad, some were pee-in-your-pants funny, and some were brutally honest, but they were
real
. You’ll see confessions at the start of
each chapter and that’s where they’re from. Real moms leaving real thoughts, without fearing judgment or negative reactions. I’m sure you’ll be able to find reflections of yourself in at least a few of them. We’re really not all that different from one another.
It’s my hope that this book will act in much the same way my blog does. While you may not be able to comment on posts the way you would online, the book may inspire you to connect with people—to talk about some of the funny stuff and the hard stuff—in ways you might not have before. Open up with your friends about how hard it is to raise a girl. Admit to your neighbor how much you despise the pool. Use this book as a lifeline when you find yourself drowning in mommyhood.
To my Scary Mommy community members: Thank you. Thank you for showing me a side of me I never knew existed and for making a dream I never knew I had come true.
BEING A SCARY MOMMY
Mommy Confessions
• I confess that most days, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Everyone thinks I have it all together—good wife, good mom, successful career—but I really don’t. I’m ready to stop pretending to be perfect now.
• I tried for seven years to get pregnant and now that I’m a mother, I wonder whether it was all worth it.
• If I have to watch
Barney
one more time, I may have to stick a fork in my eye. Actually, then I’d get some attention. Maybe not such a bad idea.
• I sometimes try to get sick, just so I have an excuse to go to sleep at 6:00 p.m.
• I joined a gym just for the free day care. I drop the kids off and read magazines and blogs in the locker room.
• I pretend to be happy being a stay-at-home mom but sometimes I feel
like I’m slowly dying. I cry every night in the shower. This isn’t what I thought it would be.
• I kiss my young teenager good-bye in the morning as she leaves for school, rising above the hormone-fueled snarling and histrionics. Then I close the front door and flip her off, with both hands.
• I miss the career I gave up more than I miss my son when I go to the grocery store. But I always get to go back to him.
• Hidden in the pantry in a box labeled “flour” is top-of-the-line chocolate and a few joints. I rarely resort to it, but it’s a comfort knowing it’s there.
T
here are a million ironies in motherhood: The day you decide to change the sheets will inevitably be the night your child wets the bed. With a million toys in the house, your baby will without a doubt prefer to play with pots and pans from the kitchen cabinet than with any expensive learning game, and your kids will always fall asleep early for the sitter who gets paid by the hour to entertain them. It’s unfair, uncool, and unjust, but, unfortunately, it’s the way it is. Perhaps, though, the biggest irony out there is that despite never actually
being
alone (can you remember the last time you peed in peace?), as a mother you can feel totally isolated.