Post by Tammie on May 10, 2006 3:10:35 GMT 10
YOU KNOW YOU'RE REALLY A MOM WHEN...
You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're 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.
You 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 sitter because you haven't been out with your husband in ages, then 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 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 unusual "fun" 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 obsess when he skips into school without looking back the second time.
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."
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.
You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're 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.
You 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 sitter because you haven't been out with your husband in ages, then 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 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 unusual "fun" 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 obsess when he skips into school without looking back the second time.
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."
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.
