(In case anyone is interested, General Beauregard Lee has predicted an early spring. I tend to believe that when it comes to Georgia.)
You live for taking your baby to their well appointments so you can find out how much they weigh and where that puts them percentile-wise. Then, you go home and compare all of your children's baby books to see how they fall in line with each other's growth. It somehow matters, if for no other reason than to confirm that they are all so very different from each other.
You make a mental note whenever another mom says "I will NEVER" so you can call them out on it some day (mentally, of course).
Sometimes, when your kids stop whatever they're doing to say "I love you, Mommy", you well up a little bit.
You know that no matter what you do, how you do it, or how well you do it in regards to parenting, there will always be room for improvement. (You just keep praying that your kids will turn out better than most of those other kids you see out in public.)
You find your son reading by the light of his closet well after bedtime. It's really hard to be upset with him over that. After reminding him that bedtime means to get in bed and go to sleep, you let him finish the book he's on. After all, the last thing you want to do is discourage reading.
You've learned that sidewalk chalk is not just for sidewalks. It's apparently also good for mailboxes, trees, the back of the van (!), and the bricks on the house.
You and your husband finally have a night without the kids. Instead of going on a date, you go home, catch up on DVR'd shows, and take a nap. Either that or go to the grocery store.
Children's literature is your guilty pleasure.
After one of your kids comes down with a violent stomach bug, you start placing bets on which of you will be next. Hey, you've got to find the fun in it somehow.
Your mom used to say "they're earning extra jewels in their crown" when she would see someone doing a thankless job. You feel that way about your children's teachers, and vow to make sure their amazing work doesn't go un-thanked.
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