Thursday, January 31, 2013

Random Mom Thoughts - While Pregnant: 3rd Trimester


- Why is that guy staring at me like that? I'm pregnant, not an alien, JACKHOLE. Haven't you ever seen a pregnant woman before? GO BACK TO YOUR MAMA'S BASEMENT, ASSBAG. Oh, he was looking at the drunk bum pissing in the street behind me. Whoops.

- When will I go into labor?

- I just dropped that on the floor. I have two options here: 1. It's staying there 2. Ethaaaan! Can you please come pick this up for Mommy?

- Okay, I have 251 newborn diapers (yes I counted them), 12 onesies, 7 sleepers, 5 pairs of pants, 10 pairs of socks, 16 washcloths, 4 bibs, 382 wipes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Who knew that organizing baby clothes and counting diapers could be so much fun?!

- What nobody tells you: shaving your legs while enormously pregnant is a MASSIVE TASK.

- Yes, I am still shaving my legs. I already feel gross, I'm not adding hairy, prickly legs to that feeling.

- I should just make a shirt: "I'm due July 12th, it's a boy, his name's Ethan, he's our first, I feel like a fucking beast GREAT, thank you!" Or should I print up flyers to hand out?

- I hate everyone. Just kidding. You, lady who just let me cut in front of you in the public restroom because you "have been there before", YOU are a Goddess.

- Thanks for parking so close to my door, dickwad. Don't you know that I'm pregnant? I have to open my car door really wide so I can get my giant belly into the car, and you just parked a foot away. Fuck you.

- Actually, Crazy Stranger in Trader Joe's, I don't give a crap what your opinion is on pregnant people drinking Hansen's sodas, nor do I care to stand here and listen to your dietary input. Thank you for wasting five minutes of my last two kid-free months. 

- I miss alcohol.

- When will I go into labor?

- Why do all the sick people insist on being in my face? Like, RIGHT UP in my FACE. Are you trying to floss my teeth with your HAIR? Get the hell away from me!

- Wow. It's actually kind of awkward being the center of attention and opening gifts at my baby shower. Who knew?

- Stop kicking my bladder, asshole.

-How is it possible for my entire body to just... hurt? I sit for longer than 10 minutes, I hurt. I stand up, I hurt. I lay down, I hurt. Hurt hurt hurt.

- We named this thing! Now, in what ways are all his classmates going to mock his name? Shit, think! How badly did we just screw your life up, kid? Okay, what rhymes with Ethan? Ethan Pee-than. Ha! I'LL call him that. That shouldn't put him in therapy. Unless he pisses his pants all the time in school or something.

- "Wow, I'm super comfortable" said no 9-months-pregnant woman, ever.

- "Wow, I slept really well, all night long" said no 9-months-pregnant woman, ever.

- WHY AM I SNORING ALL THE TIME NOW? Screw you, "extra fluid and swelling in the membranes" bullshit.

- I'm having a glass of wine. They do it in Europe all the time. YOU'LL BE FINE, BABY.

- My water better not break in public. Should I start wearing Depends, just in case?

- HOW DID THIS DOOR GET SO DIRTY? DAMN IT! I'm cleaning it right now.

- Am I in labor?

- (With the second and especially the third pregnancy) Yes, Everyone In Public, my two kids are flipping out and I can barely get them under control and YES I AM HAVING YET ANOTHER KID. I KNOW, GREAT IDEA, HUH!

- Having to piss every half-hour at night now? Really? Should I just start wearing Depends?

- I have to ride in a car for over an hour? That's like, two bathroom stops minimum. Should I just wear some Depends?

- Aaaand, I have officially lost my dignity for even considering wearing Depends... Considering it more than once.

- Was that a contraction?

- Stop kicking my ribcage, asshole.

- Tits this giant are actually not sexy.

- IS THAT A STRETCH MARK? NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

- Am I in labor? Was that a contraction?

- I can't believe Nate is going to be a dad.

- How badly does labor hurt, really? I mean, reallyreallyreally?

- Go to the grocery store? Go to your birthday party? SCREW YOU, MY WATER MIGHT BREAK ANY SECOND. I am NOT leaving this house. Because I am NOT going to leak fluid down my legs in public and be that chick, who everyone remembers for the rest of their life as "the pregnant woman whose water I saw break all over the floor at the grocery store" or "the woman whose water broke at that birthday party and that two-year-old ran right through the puddle before anyone could stop him."

- Am I in labor? Was that a contraction?

- I'm about to be a mom. ME. Holy shit. I'm sorry, kid. I'm sorry.

- Well, would you look at that. That is a giant belly. Oh hi, feet. Hi.


Me, two days before having Brandon (kid #3). Hole. E. Shit.



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Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Kids Are The Ultimate Cockblockers

Most of you with kids have figured out by now that kids are giant cockblockers. They cry at inopportune times, they unexpectedly stay awake late or wake up earlier than usual, and they especially sap the energy out of their parents, leaving no energy for anything more sometimes. They're worse cockblockers than the sanctimonious boyfriend of your college roommate who is keeping one of his friends off of your too-wasted-on-Goldschlagger-to-make-good-decisions ass - not that I have any personal experience with that particular scenario.

The other night, Brandon took cockblocking to the extreme. He woke up scared in the night, I brought him into bed with us, and he didn't do his usual "sleep alongside of me" routine. I slept on my right side, slightly twisted so that I was kind of also on my belly. Brandon was behind me and also between us, and he slept on my back, with his face buried in my hair as if laying claim to me as his own and "protecting" me from any wayward advances his father might try to make. 

And just in case Daddy didn't quite pick up on the "Mommy is MINE" signal that Brandon was throwing out by becoming one with my back and head, he proceeded to mule-kick Daddy in the back for the rest of the night. His final "F-you, Dad."

I feel so... protected.




For more cockblocking action, check out this post from I Like Beer and Babies!

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Thursday, January 24, 2013

"There is no such word as impossible."

I was standing at the kitchen counter yesterday, scarfing down a bowl of leftover sweet-and-sour chicken and reflecting. Reflecting about my writing, about my goals, and wondering if they were ever going to happen because let's be honest, there are SO MANY great writers out there, way better than I could ever hope to be (no, that's not me fishing for reassurance from anyone, I'm just being perfectly honest). I was right in the middle of reevaluating and telling myself that I probably had pretty lofty goals, that I should adjust my expectations and focus more on reality when Ethan, who was sitting in his Dad's chair with his back to me and lost in his world of playing "Bad Piggies," suddenly blurted out,

"There is no such word as impossible." 

He half-turned and looked at me out of the corner of his eye and said it again, "Mom, there is no such word as impossible."

Then he quietly went back to his "Bad Piggies" world. I stood there for several moments, chills creeping up my arms at the incredible, almost telepathic, timing of my son saying that phrase, a phrase I've never heard him speak before, right when I was in the middle of self-doubting and feeling that perhaps some goals that I want to achieve weren't possible.

After a minute, I smiled to myself and felt a little boost of optimism. And I went over to my computer to write the story down so that in the future, when I look in front of me and see a giant obstacle looming, I will remember to hear a little six-year-old's voice saying,





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Friday, January 18, 2013

Once Again: Why I Don't Take The Boys Out In Public Very Often

PROLOGUE:
I thought to myself, as I pulled up the third-row seats of our SUV to drive some extra kids for Ethan's field trip, wow it's super dirty back here. I really need to clean this, along with the rest of the car.

REST OF STORY:
You know, Fate, or Karma, or whatever the hell you're called, I wasn't asking for any extra motivation to clean the damn car.

I WAS GOING TO DO IT, I SWEAR.

Yesterday, Ethan's class (and the other four first grade classes in his school) took a field trip to a children's museum about 40 miles away, 20 of which are curvy and windy. Since I have a weird thing about strangers driving my kids, I signed up to drive and take some extra kids. Siblings were allowed to go, so I took Connor and Brandon, too, mainly since I didn't want to put out any family by asking them to babysit.

And, because why not add a couple more kids to the mass chaos that a multi-class museum trip was already going to be?

The night before we went, I packed hand sanitizer and sanitizing wipes in the backpack, and tried to pack away my raging paranoia that the boys were going to pick up every virus possible at the petri dish of a museum. I also made sure to go to bed early and get a lot of sleep because I knew it was going to be an exhausting day.

I had no idea just how much.

At the school, we had extra drivers, so Ethan's teacher assigned a mom and her kid, and another student to my car. The mom's son and the other student rode in the third row of my car, and the mom was up front with me.

About halfway through the trip, I started to smell a faint puke smell here and there, but no one said they had thrown up, and we hadn't heard anyone throw up, so I didn't think much of it. About ten minutes away from the museum, Ethan complained that his tummy hurt. The kid has never been carsick, in fact, he has never even thrown up before (outside of the profuse acid reflux spitting up as a baby), so I figured he was either hungry or had to poop (yay, motherhood).

We got to the museum, and when I opened the back hatch to let the other boys out, the smell of vomit hit me like a tidal wave. One look at the dried puke on the face of the son of the mom who rode with me made it obvious what happened: somehow he had quietly thrown up and never told us. And the poor kid sitting next to him had to endure the stench the entire rest of the way, and as soon as he got out of the car, he walked away and started gagging and drooling and was close to throwing up himself.

This was starting out to be a great trip.

As we were dealing with this, Ethan, who was standing in the parking lot behind the car, suddenly started vomiting. Profusely. Jesus. It was like some sick comedy where there's a puke-domino effect and before you know it, everyone's puking. So I was frantically looking around, trying to figure out who was going to start throwing up next, wondering what the hell was happening and why everyone was puking.

Since he had never thrown up before, Ethan was completely freaked out and actually asked me if he was dying. It was pathetic but kind of funny, because I find humor in totally inappropriate things. It's a coping mechanism. While trying not to laugh, I assured him that he wasn't dying.

All the other parents and kids were arriving during this puke clusterfuck, so everyone got to see this amazing display and of course started assuming that the boys had the flu and understandably began treating us like lepers. After a massive clean-up job (in which I was extra grateful for all the sanitizer and wipes that I had packed, as well as the plastic bags I always keep in the car), and after the pukers were asked several hundred questions by several people, it was determined that because they felt better, they had just gotten carsick, so off we went. We stopped at the bathrooms first, to wash hands and faces.

As we were going through all of the areas of the museum, Ethan kept sitting down on benches and saying he was tired. I'm prone to motion sickness and know how it can totally wipe you out, so I just told him to sit and relax whenever he felt like it. Meanwhile, I watched my other boys touch everything in sight, and caught Brandon wrapping his lips around a water spout in the water works area, AND sticking his tongue in a pool of disgusting, chlorine-filled (hopefully) water in said area, lapping it up like a dog.

I swear to God, I have no idea what the hell is wrong with that kid. He can't be right in the head.

By the time we were done picking up every virus and bacterial infection possible and ready to go outside for lunch, Ethan was over it. He barely ate, and was just laying on the ground like the passed-out bums that proliferate my town. This was not like him. It started to creep into my mind that maybe he actually was sick. The kid whose only real illness in his 6+ years of life was a case of viral pink eye that freakishly took him down like a meningitis victim, might actually be sick.

I told his teacher that I needed to get him home, while silently swallowing my profound guilt that I let him into an area with a thousand kids, thinking that he was only motion sick.  We punted off the other student to another mom, and the mom that came with me wanted to get home to get her kid out of his pukey clothes, so she came back with us (that kid was totally fine, by the way, he really had just gotten carsick). I dropped her off at her house and was four minutes from home when Ethan suddenly leaned over and puked all over himself and the floor of the car.

COME ON!

Poor guy and all that crap, but now I definitely had a sick kid AND two puke clean-up jobs. I mean, basically, now the car was a TOTAL PUKE-MOBILE. We got home, and I handed the boys over to Nate and then spent the next hour before he went to work cleaning up the car. 

So, thank you, Fate, or Karma or Shitty Whatever, for so graciously ensuring that I was given ample opportunity to follow through with my, wow it's super dirty back here. I really need to clean this, along with the rest of the car thought that I had six hours earlier. THANK Fuck YOU.

And, I'd sincerely like to apologize for having two disgusting puke stories this week. That wasn't intentional, as at the time of my post on Monday, I sadly did not know the future. I had to write about the recent event so I could emotionally purge it, so, sorry. Thanks for sticking with me anyway. I'd also like to point out that I literally made a comment on a previous post this week in which I mentioned that Ethan has never thrown up before, outside of his reflux as a baby. So Jinx, you can go suck a big one, along with the other guys.

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Monday, January 14, 2013

The Puke Story

Warning: There is no point to this story. 

One time, when Brandon was small enough to fit into a BabyBjorn (Remember those expensive pieces of shit?) and I was stupid motivated enough to wear my 15-pound kid in one of those things, along with my 10 pounds of breast-milk-filled breasts, I took all three boys out for a stroll in our 'hood. During this exciting stroll, Connor kind of complained that he wasn't feeling too great but hey, kids complain ALL THE TIME about "thiiis" and "thaaat" and frankly, I was pretty much over the miscellaneous complaining, three kids later.

So I didn't pay much attention to his complaints. Much to my detriment.

We strolled. We got home. For whatever reason (probably to rest my back from the twenty-five pounds of kid and tits hanging off my chest), I decided to sit down in one of the chairs in our house. I don't know what kind of chair it is, a club chair, a wing chair, a striped chair, a what-the-hell-ever-chair, but anyway, it was some expensive (I'm sure) chair that my in-laws graciously handed down to us, even though they knew that our kids were going to absolutely TRASH the chair within minutes of placing it in our home.

But what kind of chair it is isn't relevant. What's relevant is that within one minute of sitting down in this mysteriously-named, expensive chair, with Brandon sound asleep in the BabyBjorn that was still strapped to my chest, Connor walked over to me. He might have said something, he probably did, but all I remember is that I turned my head to the right, looked at him, saw his mouth open, and instinctively closed my eyes and quickly turned my face to the left.

It wasn't in enough time. Connor, as he opened his mouth, projectile spewed vomit all over Brandon's head, my face, the chair, the floor, and himself.

It landed on my fucking lip. A chunk of vomit, on my lip. It was all over the lower half of my face. Someone else's vomit, on my face. I had a vomit goatee.

I seriously hope you're laughing your ass off right now.

I jumped up, and crazily enough, I was concerned about our cream-colored carpet that is already stained beyond any hope of repair. Yet, my concern focused me enough to direct the still-puking Connor to the bathroom five feet away, somehow while ignoring the chunk of vomit on my lip and the vomit all over the lower half of my face.

In the bathroom, while telling Connor to aim his mouth toward the toilet (f.y.i., a two-year-old doesn't understand that directive), still ignoring the vomit on my lip and face, I started wiping the vomit off of Brandon's still-asleep head. I was simultaneously baffled at his ability to sleep through someone puking on his head, and marveling at my ability to ignore the puke on my face to tend to the puke on my kid's head AND tend to the kid that was still puking all over himself two feet away from me and two feet away from the toilet.

What a cleanup job. But hey, I love to look on the bright side (Does that surprise you? I get that.) and this meant that the BabyBjorn actually got washed for once. I mean, really, it was all worth it just so the BabyBjorn could get washed. And no, Amy and Melinda, I am NOT going to tell you which Bjorn of yours - that you so graciously let me borrow - it was he puked on. Mainly because I have no idea.

It was a grand time, a fond memory of my kids and motherhood that is seared in my mind forever.


Apparently, I wasn't partying right in college.

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Friday, January 11, 2013

PSA #3: Poison Control and Managing Panic

Do you have the phone number for Poison Control in an easy-to-access place? 

This number? 1-800-222-1222

In the past few years, I've had to call poison control three times, the most recent being last Saturday, and I am thankful that I had the number easily accessible, in the form of a magnet on the refrigerator.

*Reader Tip: Also add it to your contacts in your cell phone. (Thanks, H.T.!)

The first time I called because Connor thought it would be a good idea to guzzle blue raspberry-scented bubble solution like he was doing keg stands at some kid frat party. Since bubbles are basically just soap, I figured it was fine but was concerned about what was used to make the bubbles smell good. Poison Control said that this wasn't a big deal. So aside from a blue mouth, there were no effects from that asshattery.

The second time, either Connor or Brandon thought that eating hydrocortisone cream was a brilliant thing to do. (Who does that? My kid...) Poison Control also said this was no big deal, especially since he didn't consume an entire tube, maybe 1/4 of an ounce or so. And that some diarrhea might follow.

This third time, I found Brandon sitting next to an open baggie of adult ibuprofen tablets that he lifted out of his dad's work bag that was sitting on our kitchen counter. Did you just cringe or gasp? Yeah... 

I did my best to get out of a two-year-old, who thinks it's all fun and games, what he did with the pills, but the exact same question asked twice received different answers. "Did you put these in your mouth?" "Yesh." [big smile] "Did you put these in your mouth?" "No." [giggle giggle] "Did you swallow the pills?" "Yesh." [giggle giggle] "Did you swallow the pills? "No." 

Damn it. Damn two-year-olds.

While trying to tamper down my panic (I kept reminding myself that I needed to think, not flip out) eventually it dawned on me to go wake up Nate (he's not lazy like me; he works late shifts) and ask him if he knew how many were originally in the bag. He didn't know exactly, but determined that there had been, at most, just a few more. We decided that Brandon probably had eaten no more than 3 pills, if he had actually eaten any at all. 

I looked at how many mgs are in Brandon's dose of children's ibuprofen (100), and compared to the potentially 600 that he may have eaten, decided to call Poison Control.

Thankfully, after asking his age and weight, they said that I shouldn't be concerned unless he had taken 15 or more pills, which there's no way he got that many. They said he might experience some stomach upset and to make sure that he eats or drinks to "pad" his stomach.

There's not much that makes me feel like a shittier parent than having to call Poison Control. Even though I was literally right there with each kid each time they pulled their nonsense, they are so freaking fast, and I always feel like the person on the other end of the line is thinking, "Jesus, is this "mom" drunk? WHO LETS THEIR KID AROUND EFFIING IBUPROFEN TABLETS/EAT HYDROCORTISONE CREAM/DRINK BUBBLES?"

Even though each time, the person on the other end of the line has always been extremely nice and sounds completely without judgment.

So put that number in a handy place, you really never know when you might need it. 

1-800-222-1222

Also, when in moments of extreme stress, constantly remind yourself to think. Remind yourself that your kid needs you to think and needs you to take action. By constantly telling yourself that, it forces you to focus on thinking about what to do, instead of losing your mind to panic. The second you start to feel your focus slipping and the helplessness set in, remind yourself to think.

Trust me, it works. When Brandon was a baby, about 8 or 9 months old, I had been holding him for about five minutes when he suddenly started doing these convulsive gags and stopped breathing. My first impression was that he was choking, but I had been holding him for the previous five minutes and he had put nothing in his mouth. While I was trying to figure out what was wrong with him and what to do, he was turning grayish blue. It was clear that my baby's life was in extreme danger, and I was on the verge of flipping out but kept reminding myself to think about my options, to think about what to do. After each option as to what could be wrong with him was rapidly considered and discarded in my mind (Virus? Seizure?), as the hopelessness built, I just kept reminding myself to keep thinking or he was going to die. 

I wanted to call 9-1-1 but my instincts told me that to take the time to do that would be fatal because help wouldn't get there in time. He needed me to do something right now, but I still needed to get help on the way. Even though I hadn't seen Brandon put anything in his mouth, I flipped him over on his belly so that my hand was pushing into his diaphragm, angled his body head-down, and started whacking him on his back, all while yelling at Ethan to go wake up Daddy. As Ethan ran down the hall, Brandon started throwing up, and the vomit was mixed with blood. Nate came out of the bedroom and I was starting to tell him to call 9-1-1 when a jagged chunk of plastic that had broken off of a cheap toy came out with some vomit and Brandon started breathing again.

Hole. E. Shit.

Brandon had kept that piece of crap in his mouth for over five minutes, then suddenly decided to swallow it and nearly choke to death. And cut up his throat, too.

So, the bottom line: Remind yourself to focus and to take action. Over and over until the situation is resolved. It may seem like reminding yourself over and over would be distracting but it's not; it's focusing. Just keep swimming thinking. 

And then when all is well again, drink some wine or take a shot to calm the massive post-adrenaline-rush shaking.



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Tuesday, January 8, 2013

The Lip

Recently, it was time to replace some of the photos in our picture frames with updated ones. I painstakingly went through the voluminous amounts of photos we have, sent them off for printing, picked them up, and left them laying around in the envelope long enough that Nate took it upon himself to change out some of the frames (hey it was over the holidays!) for me.

He placed the old photos on top of the envelope, and while I was going through them and looking at the new ones, I realized that I replaced this photo:


With this one:


I am a sucker for kids doing "the lip," as I refer to it; have been since Ethan was born and he did it in between cries while I held him in my arms for the very first time. I am also a sucker for putting up funny and real-life photos over the perfectly posed ones - not a fan of doing things the conventional way, in general.

Especially since with three kids, there is no such thing as a "perfectly posed" photo with ALL three of them in it.

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Friday, January 4, 2013

Mom Exercises

Over the last year, I've steadily gained a massive (to me) amount of weight and I'm not cool with that. It offends my raging vanity, AND I'm planning a trip to the (hopefully) wonderful Mexican beach in a couple of months.

So, in an effort to drop a quick 20, I am watching what I eat go straight into my mouth and then my lovehandles, sticking to the rum and diet cokes, and exercising. But a sweaty jaunt on the elliptical once a day isn't cutting it. I've recently realized that with three little boys, I have a wealth of opportunities to catch several quick workouts throughout the day.

So does any parent, whether you have 1 or 10 kids. Check it out.

PLEASE remember that the camera really does add 25 pounds. (NO IT'S NOT JUST TEN! That's a fucking MYTH!) And no, I am NOT pregnant, despite what my appearance may suggest.

LEGS

Just lay on your back, pop a kid uptop your feet, and reverse squat him/her up and down, up and down. Do it until your legs are burning, then rest and do it again. And again. I also use this as an ab workout by extending my legs out a bit and also side-to-side. Just don't go too far out to the side, lest you lose control and drop your kid on his snot-streaked face.



I recommend keeping the two-year-old out of the area, because getting teabagged by a two-year-old isn't as cool as one might think:


Another great leg workout is "the kid drag." My kids love to cling to my legs while I'm walking, and while it's incredibly annoying, I've found that this works out my quads:


Just be sure to switch legs so they get worked out equally, or if you really want to be a tough ass, just throw a kid on each leg:


You like that full wine rack in the background? Oooh yes.

ARMS

Horseback rides are a great way to work out your arms, and kids like those more than feathers and maybe even bubbles. Be sure to keep your abdominal muscles tucked in tight for some core abdominal work:



Cost of this exercise: Your knees.

Don't just pick up your kid, bench press him in the air a few times:



Just make sure they aren't chewing food or something at the time, unless you like chewed-up graham cracker dropped into your eyeball. I also would not recommend performing this exercise with a small baby who has eaten recently or spits up frequently. As always, be wary of the errant drool trails.

REBOUNDING

Otherwise known as "jumping on a trampoline." But don't just bounce on it with your kids, like this:


How fucking boring! If you really want to challenge yourself, HOLD A KID AND JUMP: 



Jumping by yourself is for PUSSIES. You know what else is for pussies? Solo push-ups. It's not a "real" push-up unless a kid is sitting on your back or hanging off of you somehow, or at the very least, doing a downward-facing dog IN YOUR FACE and then farting, or poking you in the eyeball while you're mid-push-up.

CARDIO

A great way to get some cardio in is to let your kids play in the street:



You'll find yourself doing lots of sprints. Sprints are a GREAT workout.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm going to try to do at least one of these each day. I'll check back in with my progress someday (i.e. when I lose some pounds).

**No children were harmed during the photo shoot. And I totally adhered to child labor laws: I paid them a fair wage of Ring Pops.

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Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Things I Will Be Happy To Never Do Again

I will celebrate each day that I never have to do any of the following again:

- Give my kids baths.

- Change a diaper.

- Wipe anyone's ass except my own.

- Give my kids baths.

- Clean up Play-Doh.

- Wash a sippy cup.

- Wash any kiddie plasticware that cannot go in the dishwasher.

- Give my kids baths.

- Brush a child's teeth.

- Cut up food into bite-sized pieces.

- Buckle in or unbuckle a child from a car seat.

- Did I mention give my kids baths? No? Okay. Give my kids baths.

When the youngest child can either do all of the above things for himself or no longer requires them, I will have entered the glory days of parenting, I just know it.


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