S.U.C.K.E.R.

Mistake #1: I decided to take a lunchtime stroll through Barnes & Noble to see if they had the Grover book in stock that I've been looking for. (For those of you parents, it's called "The Monster at the End of this Book," and it is supremely hysterical...to me. DOM is only moderately amused at this point in time. I think I haven't been reading it correctly.)

Mistake #2: I decided to peruse the recent non-fiction table because...well, because it was there. That's what I do in a bookstore - I browse.

And what should my tired, confused, mommy-role questioning self see, but a book called "The 7 Stages of Motherhood," by Ann Pleshette Murphy (any relation to Suzanne Pleshette? I loved the Bob Newhart Show. And she was also in the supremely funny movie "If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium.") A quick browse to make sure it isn't some wacko evangelical treatise, and in it goes into the purchase pile.

Mr. MOM tells me I have a problem. Whenever something big comes up in life and I'm not sure what to do, I buy a book. Pregnant? Bought a book (OK, I bought about seven books). Trying to lose weight? Bought a book. Wanted to improve my running? Bought a couple of books and obsessively surfed the Web for training schedules. Mr. MOM...well, he only buys mystery and suspense books (which he reads voraciously); I can count on one hand the number of non-fiction books he has bought in the 12 years I have known him.

Somebody has to buy these books, though. There's a whole bunch of struggling self-help writers out there depending on us.

But, back to the book, it seems like Ann Pleshette Murphy has good insights and good advice. I'm looking forward to whatever enlightenment I can achieve.

If that doesn't work out, I can always get a head start on The Monster At the End of This Book.