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

other two.
    For now.
    See, this favorite child of mine changes by the day. No, by the minute, actually. Who is this favorite child of mine? It’s the particular one who is pissing me off least at any given moment in time. They have all had their fair share of being the favorite and they have all inspired the “Oh my God, did I really give birth to you” moments as well. It’s one of the best things about having more than one child: there’s always another one to go to when one of the others is driving you up a fucking wall.
    I never wanted boys. For some reason, I saw myself as a mother only of little creatures dressed in cute little pink bloomers and polka-dot ruffled bathing suits. I think I’ve just never particularly understood boys, so the notion of raising them seemed foreign and daunting. When I found out at twenty weeks that Ben was a boy, I cried. There, in the office with theultrasound tech who’d just pronounced that our baby had one beating heart and ten fingers and toes, I burst into tears. Not water-gently-welling-in-my-eyes tears, but ugly tears. Borderline hysterics, like there was something wrong with my child. It was my gut instinct and not one I’m proud of. It was also a surefire way to feel like the ultimate mother failure before my child was even born. The thought of having a boy just terrified me, and I wasn’t sure I could possibly love him as much as I loved my Lily.
    But something amazing happened when Ben arrived; I fell in love with him at first sight. Unlike the feelings of confusion and fear I experienced with Lily, I had that instant rush of love for my newborn child. Just like in the movies.
    Not only did I love him, but I actually liked him, too. Lily was the light of my life and I had adored having her to myself for the last two years, but OMG, suddenly she had become a tad annoying. Maybe it was the new baby, maybe it was our recent move, or maybe it was just part of being two years old, but girlfriend knew how to assert her independence. The tantrums had started and the drama level at our house was climbing into uncharted territory. My new baby, on the other hand, was happy to just be along for the ride. He ate well and slept well and always had a serene smile on his face. He was a pleasure . Who could blame me for falling asleep while rocking him once in a while just so I didn’t need to put Lily to bed?
    When Evan was born, I had a similar experience, except there were two other kids at home. Two kids who had their ups and downs and were developing into real people with real opinions. Otherwise known as pains in the ass. In contrast, Evan was just so . . . peaceful. That’s the thing about babies that you appreciatemore every time. They may cry and fuss, but they also shut up relatively easily. He quickly became my favorite, especially when the other two were bickering over which cartoon to watch or just how many more chips one had than the other. I inhaled his new-baby smell and retreated to the couch to cuddle him, trying to block out the hysterics in the next room.
    These days, there is no consistently easy child. Lily, my lovely and beautiful firstborn, is most definitely the girl I always wanted. She loves her Barbie dolls and playing with my makeup and trotting around in my high heels. We love getting our nails painted together and she’s already far surpassed my hair-braiding abilities. It’s so much fun watching her play with the same things I played with at her age and relating to her so closely. She’s so incredibly sweet and nurturing and, really, the experience is even better than I thought it would be. She makes me proud every day. She’s my favorite .
    Unfortunately, there is another girl inhabiting my daughter’s body who is far less enjoyable. She’s volatile and bratty and, sometimes, I wonder if she has a screw (or fifty) loose. This child likes to yell at the top of her lungs and slam doors with such force that the whole house shakes. She pinches her