You count the sprinkles on each kid's cupcake to make sure they're equal.
You have time to shave only one leg at a time.
You hide in the bathroom to be alone.
Your kid throws-up and you catch it.
As you cling to the high moral ground on toy weapons; your child chews his toast into the shape of a gun.
You hear your mother's voice coming out of your mouth when you say, "NOT in your good clothes!"
You stop criticizing the way your mother raised you.
You know you wouldn't trade this job for anything.