Disclaimer: I make no claims that the below apply solely to BoyParents. Iâ€™m sure these traits fit GirlParents too. However, I only have boys â€“ so thatâ€™s how itâ€™s getting labeled.
You donâ€™t notice the ranch dressing dripping down your arm as you eat a salad, including a pre-tasted cucumber, with a used fork.
You remember to empty the never-ending supply of rocks out of 18 pairs of 2T shorts, but completely forget that your own pockets are bulging with Hot Wheels.
â€œSticks and stones may break my bonesâ€ takes on a very literal meaning. (HITTING YOUR BROTHER IS NOT NICE.)
You routinely walk into the living room and duck because a kid is about to hurl a toy in your direction with a velocity and force completely disproportionate to his size. (Think the kid in Jerry McGuire.)
The grocery store conversation, â€œI know the apples are round, but we do not throw produce. And stop kicking the watermelon!â€ has occurred on more than one occasion.
Phrases like, â€œDonâ€™t eat the snail,â€ roll off your tongue as smoothly as, â€œHi, nice to meet you.â€
You are completely amazed by a dry bathroom floor. And you have uttered the sentence, â€œPeeing on mommy is not nice!â€
Youâ€™ve seriously considered asking your place of employment to simply pay you in Costco gift cards. Seriously â€“ how can they eat that much?!
At least one layer of stickiness or grime is always expected. You no longer understand why PigPenâ€™s emanating lines of dirt are comic fodder rather than just a fact of life.
The giant mound of dirt covering the in-process-of-renovation backyard plus a waterspout equals a Woodstock nirvana that will only be rivaled by Momâ€™s excitement about observing their first trip to Disneyland (where the small people will immediately get excited about the construction trucks).
Your friend informs you your son has fallen and skinned his knee and without missing a beat you calmly reply, â€œIs it a gaping wound gushing blood? No? Heâ€™s fine.â€
Silence is cause for panic. Theyâ€™re clearly up to something! Brace for impact.
Youâ€™re fully aware that your sonâ€™s screams of â€œDumb Fuck!â€ simply means he would like to go play with his dump truck now.
The concept of POTTY TRAINING strikes fear into your heart â€“ more than any horror movie ever could â€“ because you have a bowl of Cheerios in the bathroom specifically for target practice.
Children must be body searched before bathtime due to the very real possibility of volcanic scientific experimentation with vinegar and baking soda in the bathtub.
An average evening involves chasing one naked toddler who is chasing “MY DOGGIE” (said doggie being none to pleased), while a matching naked toddler stage-dives off the couch with gladiator cries of, “BELLY BUTTON!”
â€œWimpy white boysâ€ make you proud.
Snips and snails and puppy dog tails peopleâ€¦ Sometimes literally.