...until you became a mother...
...and even then, you're surprised.
~De-lotion your couch. Not once, but twice.
~Have your four-year-old throw a tantrum because she doesn't WANT to use the big potty. With the Disney Princess toddler seat that she picked out herself.
~Sacrifice two of your plastic Christmas cookie bins because the Fun Foam one broke spectacularly, and nothing else you have is big enough to store all the Fun Foam.
~Have your 2-year-old refuse your help with her pants, only to turn to her twin, and then they both get in a fight over how to fix the pants, and you have to do it anyway.
~Your other 2-year-old hates her pants because they "tickle." And thusly, they're "scawwy." Same with tall grass in the yard. And fallen leaves in the autumn.
~You answer semi-panicked "Owie!" screams from that same two-year-old, forty-five minutes after putting her to bed, only to find that *nothing* hurts, there is no blood, and nothing is wrong...except a fuzzie in her hair.
~Most days, figure that motherhood beats out the Peace Corps for being the toughest job you'll ever love. Until all three of your kids have screaming fits at once. And then you'll want to sell them to the first Gypsy caravan that comes through town. And you'll feel guilty that you don't feel all that bad for thinking that.
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