The supermom is a suburban legend. At some point, we’ve all forgotten to pack a lunch, yelled at our kids, or been late to soccer practice. This book is for every mom who has ever gotten angry at being interrupted from a consecutive five hours of sleep, or who has ever hid in the bathroom just to get a few moments of peace.
In this collection of thirty-six original essays, award-winning novelists, famous columnists, and bestselling authors tell it like it is, covering a plethora of confessions to reassure any mother. Gail Belsky writes about the emotional torture that led to the secret circumcision of her son. Andrea Buchanan talks about the pile of dirty laundry that saved her son's life. Muffy Mead-Ferro confesses to her slacker summer, three months without one organized activity. Judith Newman recounts the game of Torpedo that landed her and her twins in the emergency room. Jacquelyn Mitchard shares how she was expelled from the carpool for showing up late one too many times. Together, their stories provide an entertaining, affirming, and sometimes surprising look at the perils and pleasures of motherhood.
Poignant and amusing, The Imperfect Mom is a refreshing look at mistakes we all make in mothering and a consoling and hilarious testimony to parents who don't have it all figured it out.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: The Imperfect Mom|
|Release Date: 12-18-2007|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Broadway Books|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||The Imperfect Mom|
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The Imperfect Mom
WE WUZ ROBBED
It's Christmastime. A shiny bright apple of a day in San Francisco and the three of us-me, my husband, Jeff, and our one-year-old son, Max-are at a concert. Max's in red corduroy overalls and a striped shirt, his hair long and golden as the day ahead of us. The concert's been going on for an hour already and the whole time Max has been contentedly sitting on his father's lap, so enthralled by the music, he seems hypnotized. Already, a woman has come over to compliment us on our well-behaved baby. "What a love!" she coos, chucking Max under the chin. Someone else crouches and snaps his picture. And then Jeff quietly looks at me and says "I have to pee."
We both know what that means. He quietly lifts Max up and sets him on my lap, and startled, Max looks wildly around. Jeff hastens to the bathroom, and almost as if on cue, Max begins to scream.
He wails when I try to rock him. He tries to peel himself off my body when I croon. And when I stand, trying to gently dance with him, he flails his hands. "Is he okay?" the person next to us asks with great concern, and I nod. "Colic," I lie, my mouth quivering. "A little stomach bug." I try to walk with Max, just to get away from all the concerned stares, and then suddenly there's Jeff, who takes Max again, and all the crying stops. We all sit back down, and even if no one is looking at us, I feel as though they are, and I feel as if I've failed, as if I'm some terrible monster of a mother that my own son screams when I try to hold him.
I halfheartedly hand Max a pacifier and he swats it out of my hand. "Fine," I snap. &q