Your ability to hurdle baby gates has reached Olympic Gold Status.
You can’t find your refrigerator under all those handmade pictures.
You find unidentifiable science experiments growing under your sofa. You’re not sure, but one might be an old hotdog.
You are keenly aware that epic destruction can occur in less than a minute, about the time it takes to change the baby’s diaper or take your own bathroom break.
You live for naptime, bedtime, and gynecological appointments because you finally get a break from the screeching, screaming, and Barney songs.
You’re thinking about buying a coffee farm in Brazil. Because that much coffee is critical to your – and your toddlers’- survival.
You can’t remember the last time their wasn’t a pile of laundry the size of Mt. Vesuvius with a stench like something you’ve never smelled before and hope to never smell again.
Your windows have a pretty, stained glass effect. At least that’s what you tell yourself when you don’t have time to wash off the ketchup, chocolate, and pudding smears that have been accumulating for weeks.
Your poor kitty is always running out of food and water because her bowls are easily accessible and most frequently used for dumping, pouring, and scattering.
Your essential oil diffuser lives on the kitchen counter to counteract that diaper smell.
You have as many sippy cups as coffee mugs.
You have a secret stash of chocolate.
You keep a special, secret stash of wine for those days which are extra hard – you know, all of the ones that end with the letters d.a.y.
You buy baby wipes by the case.
You change clothes more frequently than a toddler because, well, there is ketchup. And spit-up. And fingerpainting. And, well, diapers. And that’s all before 9am.
You decide that keeping them in diapers a little longer is much easier and better for your sanity than attempting potty training. It’s ok, the kindergarten teacher can handle it.
Your mini-van has a special smell all its own.
You’re not sure if there is a floor under all those toys in the playroom.
Your bathroom only gets cleaned on bath night, and only with the shampoo and water that was supposed to stay in the tub.
Your idea of date night is to get in bed with a glass of wine and play dice on your cell phone while your other half watches ridiculously dumb Youtube videos but you don’t really care because you just want everyone to stop touching your body parts.
You can’t remember the last time you read a book with more than 35 words.
You daydream about what it’s like to go to the bathroom all by yourself.
You’re completely relieved when the tamper tantrum happening at the grocery store isn’t from one of yours.
You wouldn’t change it for the world.