You think goldfish crackers chased by a teeny-tiny juice box constitutes breakfast...or lunch.
You know Toopy, Dora, Caillou, Pablo, Little Bear, MingMing, and IgglePiggle, intimately, and you know every word to each theme song.
You catch yourself singing Ba Ba Black Sheep or [insert kid song] in the car EVEN WHEN THERE IS NO KID PRESENT.
You get dressed by the front door, as you're about to leave, to try and keep your clothes clean.
You typically don't notice until you're at your meeting, or out for a rare night with friends, that you have dried food bits on said clothes.
You've become used to being bossed around by your toddler.
You get (super) excited when diapers go on sale, and email every other mom (dad) you know.
Your coffee table/nightstand is covered in parenting magazines and books.
You use your kid's full-fat milk in your morning coffee.
Along with your wallet, phone, sunglasses, and keys, you also have soothers, wipes, extra diapers, bandaids, hand sanitizer, crayons, books, cereal bars or other snacks, sunscreen, and a mini Tide stick in your purse.
You refer to yourself, and everyone else, in the 3rd person.
You no longer worry about your hair when it rains - now rain means boredom, which means danger.
You don't see grapes, or blueberries, or apples as fruit - you see potential choking hazards.
You have spent hours, literally, cutting food into tiny, bite-sized pieces.
You enunciate E.ve.ry.Sin.gle.Syl.la.ble.Of.E.ve.ry.Sin.gle.Word.
You raise a glass of wine in celebration of successful potty training.
Every backyard pool now looks like a deathtrap instead of an oasis.
You can spend hours talking about nothing but poop, food, and sleep.
You worry about things you can't control.
You've never laughed this hard, or cried this much, EVER in your life.
You love this little person so much your heart might literally burst with every beat.
You choose to give a little more, and do a little more, because now it matters a whole lot more.