Free Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood: The Good, the Bad, and the Scary by Jill Smokler Page A

been like coming into a new high school halfway through sophomore year. Except this time we had real babies to keep alive, not just experimental eggs playing the role of child. There were cliques within cliques and figuring out just where you fit in was mind-numbing. Was I an earthy mom, one who would wear her baby and sing the benefits of cloth diapering? Was I an active mom, who insists on sprinting with her stroller rather than taking leisurely strolls around the mall, or who does reps with full baby bottles as if they were free weights? Was I a hip mom, striving to maintain a sense of trends and coolness? Was I a laid-back mom, just letting kids be kids and enjoying the ride? I was lost in a sea of diaper bags, infant carriers, and stretch marks, having no idea where I belonged.
    After a few months of loneliness and boredom, I got more proactive. I schlepped my baby to story time and baby stores and playgrounds where there was a high likelihood of running into members of the Mommy Club. If I saw a mother who looked like someone I could be friends with, I’d try to think of possible ways to start a conversation. “Need a wipe?” “A teething biscuit?” “How about them toddlers?!” It was just like dating, minus the possibility of free dinner and sex. Although, at that point, I probably would have considered swapping teams if it meant having a girl to see a movie with on a random Wednesday night.
    Back in the Non-Mommy Club, friendships were completely selfish and my criteria were pretty much limited to whether or not I had fun with the person. If we shared the same sense of humor, the same interests, and the same idea of a good time, that was pretty much enough. With kids in the picture, however, there was so much more to consider. Could we survive a trip to the zoo together? To a water park? To an indoor play zone? Were they responsible enough to keep an eye on my kid at the pool? Trustworthy enough to drive them to a playgroup or to keep their sick kids far from mine? And, lastly, could I tolerate their children? A nearly impossible list of criteria to fill.
    But I’ve found them: my Mommy Club friends. The ones who I cry to and laugh with and who help me survive the sometimes impossible days of motherhood. They are neighbors and parents of classmates and old friends who’ve had children—and bloggers, connected through the computer rather than everyday lives. They’ve taken years to find and aren’t always the people I would have expected, but they are mine. And, it turns out, they’re just as good as those Non-Mommy Club friends. Sometimes better.

Chapter 13
THE BIGGEST BABY OF ALL

    Mommy Confessions
    • My husband thinks I need to be more patient with the kids . . . this coming from a man who hasn’t spent more than two consecutive hours with them EVER.
    • I sometimes crush up Midol and put it in my husband’s food—it makes him sooooo much easier to deal with.
    • I tell my husband we are out of milk so I can run to the store for ten minutes of quiet time. I don’t tell him I drank the last of the milk.
    • I’m married, but sometimes I feel like a single parent.
    • My husband is taking his paternity leave to help me with the baby. He will be here for FOUR months . . . we’re on day four and I am already wishing he was back at work.
    • I think I should have more say-so over our kids than my husband. I’m the one who did all the work to bring them into this world while he jerked off into a cup.
    • I don’t complain that my husband thinks he deserves to sleep in every weekend because he works so hard; instead, I spend those morning hours spending his hard-earned money online.
    • Sometimes I let my kids sleep in bed with us so I have an excuse not to have sex with my husband.
    • If I’d known the kind of father my husband would be, I never would have married him.
    • I picked a fight with my husband last night just so I could storm off and lock myself in my room. If he didn’t