You step on no less than four raisins walking to the couch. You do not stop to pick them up.
Cheerios. Purse. Car floor. Bath tub. Under couch cushions. Cheerios.
You’ve mastered the deepest, surliest but quietest ”Stop. Throwing. That. Cup.” under your breath so that no one but your child can hear you striking the fear of God in them in the restaurant.
You know not to take it personally when they throw the cup anyway.
You only bother with the cute bathing suits if you’re Instagramming.
The standard for surfaces clean enough to eat off of has plummeted significantly.
The standard for non-food items safe enough to ingest has plummeted significantly.
There is a chip in the back windshield from that time (times?) you hurled the pacifier into the back seat in a rage after swearing this was going to be the car ride you didn’t cave in. At least you made it to the end of the driveway. You apologized later. With Cheerios.
You stroll through the mall humming “Do you want to build a snowman?” Alone.
The walls, floor, towel, sink and bather all exit bath time wetter than the bathee.
When you see duck on the menu during date night, an involuntary “Quack! Quack!” escapes your lips.
At the playground, you find no reason to intercede when your child is forcefully hugging a stranger’s child, spread eagle in the sand throwing fistfuls of dirt in the air, or screaming incoherent but most likely baby profanities at the squirrels . No feces? No problem.
You only have one child but no one else can fit in your SUV due to the growing number of shoes, stuffed monkeys, dolls and extra clothes accumulating in the back seat.
You either leave the house with three strollers in the back of the car to go to the grocery store, where you don’t need a stroller, or you leave for a week vacation with no strollers in the car.
Your dog roams the house in a perpetual state of fear and avoidance.
Your day doesn’t actually begin until 8:30 p.m. Any plans for productivity, adult conversation or finishing a full meal before that time are laughable.
Related: Your body has learned to function for 7 hours on three cups of coffee, bread crusts and a dozen rejected grape halves.
It takes you two hours to pack for the beach.
You spend, at most, 90 minutes at the beach.