Yesterday, as I was
floating in the pool perusing Self magazine working, I came across the following:
“There may be a scientific reason for those TMI moments. Sharing personal info lights up reward centers in the brain–the same ones activated by sex…” (page 81 of August 2012 issue of Self–I’m behind on my reading).
Naturally, I’ve come to the conclusion that the Oversharing: I Ain’t Scarrred series gives you orgasms. So, you’re welcome.
Conveniently, the Big O is a perfect segue into today’s Oversharer. You may have heard of her; she’s kind of a big deal and, like, the pioneer of honest parenting. She’s written a few books, been on a few TV shows, and is basically my new best friend. At least until the restraining order kicks in. Ladies and the two gentleman who read this blog, I give you: Jill “Scary Mommy” Smokler!
Once upon a time, Jeff and I lived in a loft-style condo in Washington, DC. The bedroom was upstairs in the loft and the living space was on the first level. We didn’t have much money for furniture, so what we had all resided downstairs, and the bedroom was completely empty, save for the bed which sat smack dab in the middle of the enormous room. Because of this lack of space, some things that might otherwise be kept discretely in bedside drawers, um, weren’t. If you catch my drift.
This was long before the days of motherhood and long before I lost all sense of boundaries and modesty. Clearly. My biggest fear back then was that, God forbid, something horrible happen to me, my family might discover exactly what I kept under that bed. The thought of them finding that pink bunny was almost too much to bear. Almost too much. Because I loved that bunny. That sweet, sweet bunny.
After a couple years, Jeff and I were ready to say goodbye to condo living and buy our first house. Being the maniac packer that I am, I had the entire house boxed up and organized weeks before we were ready to move. When the day finally came, I was more than ready. I had thought of every little thing.
A team of big, burly men arrived to whisk away all of our belongings. They moved furniture and boxes, as I busied myself with cleaning the kitchen and sweeping the floors. We didn’t talk much, which is why is seemed odd that they were all so friendly as they carted the bed-frame out and told me they’d see me over at the house.
“Ma’am, you might want to check the bedroom one last time,” one of the men chuckled as the rest of them snickered.
Bewildered, I walked up the stairs to grab whatever piece of random clothing or candle was left behind. But there wasn’t anything in the room. The closets were empty and not a thing was left behind. Until I looked a little closer and saw it. My rabbit. Smack dab in the middle of the room with nothing to mask its existence. I swear, I saw its whiskers twitch as it smirked at me. I was mortified.
For years, that was my most embarrassing moment; the mere thought of it made me cringe. It was bad. And then I got pregnant, puked all over everything for nine months, lost all bladder control, shit on the delivery table and lived to tell about it.
Nothing phases me now.
Jill Smokler is the New York Times bestselling author of Confessions of A Scary Mommy (April 2012) and Motherhood Comes Naturally (And Other Vicious Lies) (April 2013) as well as the owner all things Scary Mommy. [Editor’s note: she’s also super sweet.]
Jill’s honest take on parenting has appeared in numerous publications and on television programs, including The Today Show, The New York Times, Good Morning America, Nightline and CNN. The website averages over 3 million page views a month and the Scary Mommy Twitter feed keeps over 310,000 followers entertained daily, including Tori Spelling, Nicole Ricci, Cynthia McFadden, Holly Robinson Peete and President Obama. [Editor’s note: THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?! This lady is GOOD.] The Scary Mommy Facebook page boasts over 89,000 active fans.
Jill is coming to my hometown of Pittsburgh THIS Saturday, June 29. Join us for a meet-and-greet at The Sheraton Hotel in Station Square from 5:30 – 7:30 pm, and then get the hell out because I get to have dinner and drinks with her and subsequently giggle uncontrollably like a fourth grade girl for the remainder of the evening.
We should be friends.