You use your own
saliva to clean your child’s face.

You have time to
shave only one leg at a time.

Your kid throws
up and you catch it.

Someone else’s
kid throws up at a party. You keep eating.

You’ve mastered
the art of placing large quantities of pancakes and eggs on a plate without
anything touching.

Your child insists
that you read “Once Upon a Potty” out loud in the lobby of Grand Central
Station, and you do it.

You cling to the
high moral ground on toy weapons; your child chews his toast into the shape
of a gun.

You hope ketchup
is a vegetable, since it’s the only one your child eats.

You can’t bear
the thought of your son’s first girlfriend.

You hate the thought
of his wife even more.

You find yourself
cutting your husband’s sandwiches into cute shapes.

You can’t bear
to give away baby clothes – it’s so final.

You hear your mother’s
voice coming out of your mouth when you say, “NOT in your good clothes!”

You count the sprinkles
on each kid’s cupcake to make sure they’re equal.

You stop criticizing
the way your mother raised you.

You donate to charities
in the hope that your child won’t get that disease.

You hire a sitter
because you haven’t been out with your husband in ages, then spend half the
night checking on the kids.

You hide in the
bathroom to be alone.

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