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.

You say at least once a day, “I’m not cut out for this job”, but you
know you wouldn’t trade it for anything.