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

brothers when nobody is looking and rolls her eyes so harshly that I sincerely worry that they will actually get stuck in the back of her head. She’s argumentative and antagonistic and just plain nasty. I’m really not fond of that girl.
    So, it’s on to my Ben. My Ben, who already is one step ahead of the rest simply by virtue of resembling me the most. Ben, whose smile lights up his entire face and who can’t resist stomping in every puddle he sees. Ben, whose laugh is just contagiousand who’s always good-natured. He’s kind and generous and just an all-around great kid. He’s my favorite.
    But then he whines. Ben’s whine has to be the most irritating noise on the planet. His whine could be used as a torture method to drag out top secret information from the most threatening of men. It’s constant and shrill and, really, just can’t be properly conveyed on paper. You have to hear it to believe it, which for your sake I hope is never the case. When he’s in the middle of going on and on about dinner being yucky or a museum being boring or a walk being too long, I often want to shoot myself. At those times, he’s most definitely not my favorite.
    And then there’s my baby. I’m pretty sure Evan will still be my baby when he’s forty. Or thirty-five, at least. He tells me he loves me a hundred times a day and melts me every single time. He sings along to every song he knows in the cutest, deepest little-boy voice ever. The things that come out of his mouth completely crack me up and he is so delicious that I could eat him up. Though I resented every minute of my pregnancy with him, I couldn’t possibly love him more. Our family would be incomplete without his addition. He’s my favorite .
    But lately, he’s begun to be a bit of a nightmare. The kid who used to proudly get himself dressed every day now insists that I outfit him from head to toe. The child who would, at one time, happily eat salmon and peas now wants only peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every single meal. His newly begun tantrums rival any other tantrums I’ve ever seen before and he’s a walking incubus, ensuring that our winters are spent running back and forth from the ER to the pharmacy and back home again. When he’s thrashing around on the floor over not being allowed a thirdbreakfast bar in an hour, I crave a more reasonable child. A more mature child. A child whom I can reason with and converse with like a sane human being.
    So, I find Lily. And she’s my favorite again. For a bit.
    It’s the cycle of multichildren motherhood and I really don’t feel guilty about preferring one to another in the least. I love them all and they’re each the golden child at one time or another, so it all evens out. Besides, who wouldn’t prefer a child who is behaving like himself rather than acting like a raging lunatic? It’s only natural.
    Plus, it makes it easier for me to understand when they pronounce Daddy their favorite parent and tell me that I’m the worst mother in the world. Deep down, I know that I’m their favorite.
    Just like they all are mine.

Chapter 15
I HATE OTHER PEOPLE’S KIDS (NOT YOURS, OF COURSE)

    Mommy Confessions
    • I make faces at other people’s misbehaving children in the grocery store when their parents aren’t looking.
    • My best friend’s kids have ruined our friendship. I just can’t bring myself to be around them.
    • My nightmare job would be a preschool teacher. I’d rather collect garbage or clean toilets than be around a bunch of two-year-olds all day.
    • I always thought I wanted to be the house where all of my kids’ friends convene. Now I am that house and it’s totally overrated.
    • Why are other people’s kids so much more annoying than my own?
    • I don’t like some of my nieces and nephews and I seriously can’t stand having them at my house.
    • I “accidentally” tripped a child on the playground yesterday.
    • When my kid talks in baby talk, I think it’s