Confessions of a Scary Mommy is a collection of original essays that take an irreverent look at the underbelly of parenting—things most moms would never admit, but feel every day. Brutally honest and hysterically funny, Confessions will leave you feeling less alone in the sometimes overwhelming and exhausting world of motherhood. If you’re already a fan, lock the bathroom door on your whining kids, run a bubble bath, and settle in. If you’ve not encountered Scary Mommy before, break out a glass of champagne as well, because you’ll be toasting your initiation into a very select club.

     Chapters cover everything from husbands (“If he could be carried around in a Baby Bjorn all day, he would.”) to other people’s kids (“Other people’s kids are just useless, bad influences who play no necessary role in our lives.”) to PTA fundraisers (“It brings out the worst in people…and who wants an overpriced roll of wrapping paper, anyway? How about something we actually want to buy? Alcohol, for instance.”) Each chapter begins with the best anonymous confessions from Smokler’s popular online Confessional.

     Whether you’re a mom, a dad, a grandmother, a grandfather, an aunt, an uncle, a teacher, a godparent, or a teenager in need of birth control, Confessions of a Scary Mommy will be sure to leave you nodding your head in agreement and laughing out loud.

The Scary Mommy Manifesto:

I shall maintain a sense of humor about all things motherhood, for without it, I recognize that I may end up institutionalized. Or, at the very least, completely miserable.

I shall not judge the mother in the grocery store who, upon entering, hits the candy aisle and doles out M&Ms to her screaming toddler. It is simply a survival mechanism.

I shall not compete with the mother who effortlessly bakes from scratch, purees her own baby food, or fashions breathtaking costumes from tissue paper. Motherhood is not a competition. The only ones who lose are the ones who race the fastest.

I shall shoot the parents of the screaming newborn on the airplane looks of compassion rather than resentment. I am fortunate to be able to ditch the kid upon landing. They, however, are not.

I shall never ask any woman whether she is, in fact, expecting. Ever.

I shall not question the mother who is wearing the same yoga pants, flip-flops and t-shirt she wore to school pickup the day before. She has good reason.

I shall never claim to know everything about any child but my own. (Who still remains a mystery to me.)

I shall hold the new babies belonging to friends and family, so they may shower and nap, which is all any new mother really wants.

I shall attempt to not pass down my own messed up body issues to my daughter. She deserves a mother who loves and respects herself; stretch marks, cellulite and all.

I shall not preach the benefits of breastfeeding or circumcision or home schooling or organic food or co-sleeping or crying it out to a fellow mother who has not asked my opinion. It’s none of my damn business.

I shall try my hardest to never say never, for I just may end up with a loud-mouthed, bikini clad, water gun shooting toddler of my very own.

I shall remember that no mother is perfect and my children will thrive because, and sometimes even in spite, of me.

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