Read Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood: The Good, the Bad, and the Scary for Free Online Page A

Corner Bakery missed me, too. But I slaved away at the gym and pretended garbanzo beans and roasted cauliflower were delicious, and I eventually wore those skinny jeans again.
    Until the following spring, when I craved that bacon-and-egg sandwich on a fresh croissant. I practically cried tears of joy while eating it and suddenly realized I was at a crossroads. Practically speaking, now was as good a time as any to start trying for another baby, and I was really hungry. Plus, my college roommate was getting married that fall and it was either continue starving to fit into the tight dress alongside her miniature high school friends, or be the one waddling down the aisle in aspecially altered bridesmaid dress. As I licked grease off of my fingers, the decision was made. Two weeks later I was pregnant and the local pizza shop was once again on my phone’s speed dial.
    Even though I knew from past experience just how hard that weight eventually would be to take off, I ate my way through nine delicious months all over again. Sixty-five pounds, right on the button. I can’t say I have any regrets, though. My Ben was worth every last calorie, just like his brother was less than two years later.
    Even if I’m still carrying those croissants around on my ass.

Chapter 6
THE NAME GAME

    Mommy Confessions
    • I had no idea when I was dreaming up all of my cute baby names growing up that someday I would marry a man who would shoot them all down.
    • I wouldn’t date a man because his name was Norman. I’ve often wondered whether he was the perfect man for me and got away for that ridiculous reason.
    • I changed my daughter’s name at the last minute and totally regret it.
    • I refuse to allow my son to be a “junior” in this family . . . the last thing we need is to have a miniature version of his father running around.
    • My husband is determined to name our baby girl after his mother. Her name was Ruth. Shoot me now.
    • I named my son after a boy I had a crush on in high school . . . my husband has no idea he has a namesake.
    • People who choose a baby name but keep it secret from friends and family until the baby is born are just annoying. News flash, Walter Cronkite . . . none of us give a shit.
    • My best friend named her son Frederick. I fear he’s going to grow up to be just as nerdy as she is . . . but hopefully equally as sweet.
    • I let my husband name my daughter and I spend every day regretting that decision. Able Luna. What the hell kind of name is that?
    • I secretly love it when people name their children ridiculous names. It gives me something to laugh at.
    • I’m dying to tell my sister that the name she picked out is UGLY.
    • I want to have another baby just so I can use the girl name I’ve loved since I was seven.
    • Naming a child is way too stressful . . . I’m tempted to have an online vote and be done with it already.
    • My best friend just named her son Storm. Is that even a name?
    • If I meet one more parent who named their child something that 90 percent of the country can’t pronounce, I just might punch them in the face. What happened to Sarah and Jane?
    W hen you are one half of a couple for any decent amount of time, the inevitable questions commence. The distant relatives you run into at reunions, the old English teacher you see at the grocery store, your sorority sisters—they all want to know one single thing: when are you two tying the knot? It’s none of their business and it doesn’t impact them in the least, but they just have to know. And then, once you are married, the question moves on to procreating. Have you thought about it? How many children do you want? You never know how long it will take, you know, so you really ought to get started. Go . . . now! Quite an aphrodisiac, those conversations.
    And then you get pregnant. Congratulations! You waffle about exactly how and when to share the exciting news with friends, family, and strangers alike. Matching