You want to take out a contract on the kid who broke your child's favourite toy and made him/her cry.

You have time to shave only one leg at a time.

You hide in the bathroom to be alone.

Your child throws up, and you catch it.

Someone else's kid throws up at a party, and you keep eating.

You hire a babysitter because you haven't been out with your husband in ages, then spend half the night talking about and checking on the kids.

You hope ketchup is a vegetable because it's the only one your child eats.

You can't bear the thought of your son's first girlfriend.

You hate the thought of his wife even more.

You donate to charities in the hope that your child won't get that disease.

You fast-forward through the scene when the hunter shoots Bambi's mother.

You use your own saliva to clean your child's face.

You obsess when your child clings to you upon parting during his first month at school, then obsess when he skips in without looking back the second time.

You can't bear to give away baby clothes--it's so final.

You hear your mother's voice coming out of your mouth when you say, "Not in your good clothes!"

You stop criticising the way your mother raised you.

You read that the average five-year-old asks 437 questions a day and feel proud that your kid is above average.

You say at least once a day, I'm not cut out for this job, but you know you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.