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

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    When babies are sick, pediatrician’s visits are paid for by insurance. When puppies are sick, you can kiss that vacation you were saving for goodbye.
    When babies come in from the rain, they may need a change of clothing. When puppies come in from the rain, you want to move to a new house.
    When a new baby enters your life, people rush to your aid and can’t wait to help out in any way they can. When a new puppy enters your life, people think you’re insane.

Lie #17
A HOUSE WITHOUT CHILDREN IS AN EMPTY ONE

    My kids think I’m kidding when I say I can’t wait to sign myself into a retirement community where they will need an appointment to visit me.
    â€”Scary Mommy Confession #111354
    W e picked Maisy out from a farm about two hours away. You know, to begin our quest to see just how much neediness Mommy can take before she goes bat-shit crazy.
    After a rough drive that included Evan vomiting all over himself, we pulled up to a beautiful farm of rolling hills and mature trees. Horses meandered calmly in the fields. Birds chirped happily and melodically. There was a calmness about the place that almost made me forget about the stench of Evan’s soiled clothes. In the distance, I could see two large golden retrievers watching us approach. The puppies’ parents! I was excited to see them, but as I got closer and got a better view, my excitement turned to horror.
    The sire looked fantastic. Smiling widely and wagging his tail profusely, he was robust and healthy looking. His coat was wavy and soft, and his eyes sparkled with joy and excitement. He looked proud of his puppies and maybe even of his virility.
    And then there was the mother. This bitch was a mess. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and her coat was knotted and gnarly. I’m pretty sure I saw food dangling from her ear. But that wasn’t the worst of it. As she got up and made her way over to me, I saw her battle scars: dangling from her underbelly were seven—SEVEN—saggy, sore, blistered nipples. They were like testicles, only uglier. That poor, poor dog, I thought to myself, as we came face-to-face.
    And just as I was starting to feel guilty about taking one of her beloved puppies away from her for the rest of her life, we shared a moment that I’ll never forget. As we locked eyes, mother to mother, she gave me a look of sheer relief. “Thank fucking God,” her eyes said. “Better you than me. Better you than me.”
    I swear, if that dog could have packed that puppy’s suitcase and put it in my trunk herself she would have had us on our way home without a minute to spare. She was Done with a capital D . We would leave the farm that day with our new puppy in tow, and her mother would get her life and her body back. There wasn’t even a hint of sorrow. I’d call it jubilation.
    And I can’t say I didn’t recognize the feeling.
    I sent each of my kids to full-day preschool when they turned two. With Lily, it felt like a necessity. Ben was born the same month that she turned two, and I simply needed the help during the day. The same thing happened with Ben when Evan was born just twenty-one months later. Once again, I had a newbornin the house and needed time to devote to my new baby. But then Evan turned two, and I had no excuse. For a few weeks I even thought about having another baby just so I could rationalize packing Evan off to preschool. But that would have killed me, and then what good would I be to my kids? So I sent him off, too, and waited for the flood of guilt and sorrow to hit. And I waited. And waited. And waited.
    It never came. Suddenly, for the first time in five years, I wasn’t stuck home every day with a baby. I could take long showers and do my hair. I could leisurely read People magazine at lunch, rather than in the checkout aisle. I didn’t have to change my clothes twice a day, and I could spend hours at HomeGoods looking at décor I