You count the number of sprinkles on each kid’s cupcake to make sure they are equal.
You want to take out a contract on the kid who broke your child’s favorite toy and made him/her cry.
You have time to shave only one leg at a time.
You hide in the bathroom to be alone.
Your child throws up and you catch it.
Someone else’s kid throws up at a party and you keep eating.
You consider finger paint to be a controlled substance.
You mastered the art of placing food on a plate without anything touching.
Your child insists that you read “Once upon a Potty” out loud in the lobby of the doctor’s office and you do it.
You hire a baby sitter because you haven’t been out with your husband in ages, then you spend half the night talking about and checking on the kids.
You hope ketchup is a vegetable because it’s the only one your child eats.
You find yourself cutting your husband’s sandwiches into unusual shapes.
You fast-forward through the scene when the hunter shoots Bambi’s mother.
You obsess when your child clings to you upon parting during his first month at school, then you obsess when he skips in without looking back.
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 stop criticizing the way your mother raised you.
You read that the average-five-year old asks 437 questions a day and feel proud that your kid is “above average.”
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