Free Motherhood Comes Naturally (and Other Vicious Lies) by Jill Smokler

word mommy and it will be the most wonderful sound in the universe.
    T HE BAD NEWS : Soon after, you will hear the word MOMMY!! five hundred times in a row and it will be the most irritating word you have ever heard in your life.
    T HE GOOD NEWS : Your child will eventually sleep through the night.
    T HE BAD NEWS : You will never get a full night’s sleep again. You’ll be awoken by bad dreams and wet beds, and one day inevitably stay awake waiting for your teenager to waltz through the door three seconds before curfew. Sleep as you once knew it is over. Forever.

Lie #16
PETS MAKE CHILDREN MORE RESPONSIBLE

    I hate rodents more than anything, but got a gerbil for my daughter because it was all she wanted for her birthday. Gerbil got sick and guess who feeds the damn rat her meds through a little baby syringe and sings lullabies the whole time? My daughter? HA.
    â€”Scary Mommy Confession #258866
    O ur beloved twelve-year-old golden retriever, Penelope, passed away last spring. Her health had been declining for several months, and one day she woke up simply unable to stand. We brought her to the vet and heard the devastating news we had known was coming for a while: the time had come to put her out of her pain. And, so, we did. We said our tearful goodbyes as she peacefully took her last breaths. We kissed her head and patted her tummy as we lay with her, thanking her for being such a wonderful pet to us.
    For weeks, Jeff and I walked around in a complete daze. We had brought Penelope home a few weeks after we were married and could barely remember a life together that didn’t include her. I would sporadically cry, countless times throughout the day, and unexpectedly finding a tuft of her hair reduced me to a sobbing mess for hours one afternoon. The void she left in the house was palpable, so much more so than I ever could have imagined. But the kids seemed relatively unfazed. Sure, they were sad, but life went on. They bickered and played and antagonized and didn’t seem interested in wallowing the way I did.
    Lying in bed one night, I asked Jeff why he thought the kids weren’t more of a mess. Didn’t they miss her red tail wagging? Greeting her upon entering the house? Feeding her their unwanted chicken fingers? Apparently Jeff wasn’t all that surprised. They’re kids, was his simple answer. They bounce back quickly; I doubt they’ll even remember her when they’re grown.
    WHAT??! OF COURSE they will, I cried. They loved her!! They grew up with her! They rode her like a horse! They chased her around the house! They fed her their food! They played in the snow! Of course, they’ll remember those things . . . Forever! Won’t they?!!?
    I’m not sure they will, he insisted. They’re so little now—do you remember much from when you were five or six? Penelope was our dog, before kids. They knew her for a while, but she wasn’t our family dog. She wasn’t the dog who slept in their rooms and whom they could actually walk themselves. She wasn’t the dog they really helped with. By the time they were born, she was old. They missed out on all of that.
    And then he uttered the words that started it all: they really do need a dog of their own.
    For the next several months, Jeff began a campaign that could rival any billion-dollar run for office. You see, as much as I adored my Penny, I had also become quite accustomed to the perks of not having a dog. The fact that I didn’t have to vacuum every day. That I hadn’t picked up a lint brush in weeks. Not walking a dog in the rain. Not scheduling my day around being home for walks and remembering to dole out flea medication. Turns out, there are lots of nice things about that palpable void in the house.
    But Jeff didn’t agree. To him, having our children grow up without a dog (like the two of us did, I might note) was unfathomable. His list of reasons included unconditional love, added