I used to love watching scary movies when I was younger. I still have memories of junior high sleepovers, when a group of us girls would make buckets of popcorn, curl up in our sleeping bags and watch horrible, D-list movies like "Silent Night, Deadly Night" and "Child's Play." We'd scream and shriek, finding some kind of bizarre delight in scaring ourselves. As an adult, I still got a thrill from a good horror flick, much more so than my husband, who jokes that you cannot make a scary movie unless it has the word "The" in the title ("The Others, "The Cabin in the Woods," "The Shining.")
By Jessica Collins Grimes for TheBump.com
Thinkstock / The BumpBut then I had kids. And scary movies were no longer fun or silly. They became, well, scary.
Isn't that strange? That was certainly a side effect of motherhood that I was not expecting. But every time I watched some young starlet meet a horrible death onscreen, all I could think was, "What if that was my child?" Even watching movies like "War of
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