You Might Be a Parent If...

                I’m sure as you read this, most of you are fairly certain whether or not you are a parent.  But since it’s the holidays and we all have a few spacey moments, this should help clarify things for you.  If any of the items listed below apply to you, you might be a parent.  If most or all of them apply, you probably have lots of kids.

 

You might be a parent if:

-          You stash wet wipes in your vehicle;

-          You’ve ever wiped someone else’s nose on your sleeve;

-          You know what BPAs are and whether anything you own contains them;

-          Your cell phone’s protective case could survive a deep sea dive;

-          You drive a Honda Odyssey;

-          You find spare cheerios in your pockets, purse, car, closets;

-          You fantasize about sleeping;

-          Your purse contains someone else’s backup underpants, emergency fruit snacks, and/or goldfish crackers;

-          You know what I mean by “emergency” fruit snacks;

-          You frequently refer to yourself in the third person;

-          You regularly spell swear words;

-          You’ve ever uttered the phrase “we don’t say ‘stupid’”;

-          You regret not buying stock in Clorox wipes;

-          You could stand your ground in a lengthy debate about costco vs target brand diapers;

-          Your morning routine takes less than fifteen minutes;

-          You catch yourself tying your shoes by making two bunny ears;

-          There is an Elf on your shelf;

-          You’ve ever gotten out of bed at midnight to move said Elf;

-          Your Facebook feed is consumed with photos of other people’s kids, birth announcements, and complaints about circulating viruses;

-          You know what a “sleep sack” is;

-          You buy multiple gallons of milk each week;

-          You’ve ever written Mattel to ask them to stop selling Barbie wearing shoes;

-          You know how to swaddle;

-          You can say “we don’t eat boogers” with a straight face;

-          You schedule everything around nap time;

-          You eat dinner before 6pm;

-          You have chicken nuggets in your freezer;

-          You’ve ever hidden in your laundry room to eat candy;

-          The bottom three feet of your Christmas tree are completely bare;

-          You refer to acquaintances as _____’s Mom rather than by name;

-          You handle glitter like hazardous waste;

-          You hang signs by your doorbell, threatening anyone who dares ring it;

-          You’ve caught yourself singing “Old Macdonald” or “Twinkle Twinkle” in the  shower;

-          Your lunch often consists of half-eaten and/or rejected portion’s of other people’s meals;

-          You’ve ever said aloud that you have to go potty.

Happy holidays everyone!!! Thanks again for reading and sharing!

Mom Means Worry

 

Last week, a friend of mine, who is newly pregnant with her first child, innocently asked me at what point in pregnancy she would stop worrying.  Her question threw me.  Initially, I couldn’t fathom ever worrying when your child is still tucked safely inside you, incapable of choking on a Barbie shoe, chasing a ball into the street, or falling off the monkey bars at recess.  But then it all came back to me—the panic about miscarriage, genetic abnormalities, pre-term labor, complications during delivery, and so forth and so forth.  And that oh-so-common worry about how something as massive as a baby’s head can fit through such a tiny hole without causing permanent emotional and physical injury, not to mention the stressful decision of whether you’d prefer to have a stranger jab a needle in your spine or just feel every moment of delivery.  Pregnancy is filled with worry.

But even once I remembered that, I still couldn’t answer her question.  What was I supposed to say—that once her baby was born, she would wake him every hour for the first few weeks just to confirm that he was still breathing?  That she would literally OBSESS over the color, frequency, and texture of her newborn’s poop?  Or that she would, at some point, call the after-hours pediatrician number so fraught with worry over something that turned out to be as simple as a burp?  She probably wouldn’t have believed me if I had told her that.  Or if she did, she might then ask me when the worry does stop, and that answer, as you all know, is never.

By the time her child is a toddler, I suspect she will no longer worry about the contents of diapers as much as she will worry over the fact that everything in the normal household is a potential deathtrap for an inquisitive toddler.  Once she gets over that, she will worry that her preschooler is homesick when he first starts school.  And as soon as her child starts elementary school, she will suddenly find herself overwhelmingly worried about school shootings, even while complaining to her parents about the excessive security involved in entering the school building. 

Last night, I started to worry about paying for college for my kids.  And that led me to worry about them drinking too young, walking home alone in the dark after a late lecture, or making bad decisions at frat parties.  My oldest is seven.  I eventually fell back asleep, comforted by the thought that with the way I’ve been parenting, it’s possible my kiddos won’t even get into college, let alone opt to attend rather than to join a circus.  I did notice, however, that my husband slept like a baby.  I’m pretty sure he has never worried about how he would get all the kids out of their car seats if the minivan plunges into an icy ravine during an accident.  It’s also a safe bet that he has never considered the possibility that our toddler’s ability to eat six pieces of toast in one sitting, while still weighing 20 pounds, is evidence of a parasite.  And I guarantee he’s never tried to figure out if plastic party silverware contains BPA.

That observation led me to my conclusion, that being a mom means worry.  Lots of it.  Some valid, some ridiculous, but no matter how fleeting each concern is, the worry never ends.  Still, you can’t say that to a pregnant woman any more than you can tell her that the baby weight won’t really just fall off if you breastfeed.  She’ll figure it out for herself soon enough.