What is a Scary Mommy, you ask? I believe a Scary Mommy is a mother who doesn’t leave the house wearing lipstick at all times. A Scary Mommy loves her kids to death, but will admit to feeling totally overwhelmed and exhausted by the gig. A Scary Mommy doesn’t really care what other people think, and a Scary Mommy thinks that all mothers win when we admit our weaknesses.Jill (aka Scary Mommy) has invited the rest of us mom bloggers to explain why we fit this description. And the most convincing Scary Mommy wins a very exciting prize!
If you're familiar with this blog or have spent any time with my family, you know that I was born (edit: not initially, but upon becoming a mom) to dominate this contest.
Before having kids, I was as unassuming as they get. If you wanted to pay the old Deb $10,000 less than she deserved, she'd accept with a smile. Wanted to beat her in a race? She'd move aside and usher you right on by. Steal her boyfriend? Obviously, you were prettier and more interesting.
But sometime between the two hours of pushing and two days of sobbing (the baby's and mine) after my firstborn son and I left that
Brian went back to work about a week after Gunnar--our beautiful boy who wailed nearly every moment he wasn't eating or sleeping--was born. Once I was on my own, I quickly discovered that the motion and fresh air of the stroller was pretty much the only way to soothe the baby once his other needs were met.
So, for most days of my maternity leave, once baby Gunnar had been fed and begun feeling the burn of his untreated reflux (due to jackass doctor, who I eventually dumped), I'd throw on the same sweats, slip-on sneakers, and a fresh sanitary pad that turned to an ice pack when punched, and push newborn Gunny around and around the cemetery until I almost had to call Graco for a set of replacement wheels.
Once nighttime finally came, Brian (Scary Dad!) and I would take shifts staying up to continuously restart the music and vibrations of Gunny's bouncy chair--the only other place he'd sleep besides the stroller (until he got hooked on sleeping on his belly, another jackass-doctor-related debacle I'll tell you about sometime).
When my return to work mercifully rolled around, I successfully negotiated a flexible, part-time schedule. I gave any coworker complaining about being tired from being out partying the night before the most contemptuous glare known to humankind.
I learned to live without a guaranteed daily shower and to shop the aisles for foods that could be eaten with one hand. I was sleepless and often cried over the loss of my former, care-free (wasn't it?) life.
But no matter what he put me through, I loved my little boy.
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However, none of that is what makes me a Scary Mommy. The real reason I should win is because I was crazy enough to get pregnant with my daughter when my colicky firstborn was just four months old.
