Writing assignment...

About a million years ago I used to read blogs written by other people just to pass the time. Oh and because some of them were uproariously funny. Like Mama Kat. So the other day I clicked on her blog again to find myself laughing until tears appeared. I noticed one of her writing prompts was "you know you're a rookie mom when..." and I thought huh. I should totally blog about that.

Well. You know. Me and the whole spare-time thing. I knew there was NO way I would get it done by the due date. Nor did I really want to post and link to another blog right now. My blog is not really viewer friendly right now what with the fits and starts of posting. But I thought it might be fun to try it anyway. Been awhile since I posted anything just for fun. SO here goes...

You Know You're A Rookie Mom When...

The color of poop in the diaper surprises you. Because let's face-it can be just about any color under the rainbow for no reason whatsoever. Except maybe the little sneaks ate a crayon when you weren't looking.

You can't concentrate on a TV show with a kid screaming in the background. I admit I sometimes still have trouble with this one. I've found that sometimes you have to turn the volume all the way up to 18 to actually hear it well enough...

You want sleep more than sex. My mom reads this, so I'm just going to leave it at that. Except to say that sometimes it's still a toss up. But when you're a rookie mom--there is no 'toss up'. It's always sleep. Always.

You wash your hands after wiping your kid's snotty nose with a Kleenex. I know it's horrible to admit, but when you're on kid number three and you know they are all going to get snotty in the end...well the skin on your hands just simply can't take the extra stripping of oils. I mean you are already washing them after diaper changes and dirty laundry and washing dishes. Eesh.

You can't watch the news for fear of seeing a sad story.

You know when you are not making sense and can catch your mistakes. In fact I would say that when you slip so deeply into the oatmeal-for-brains region that your six year old tells you that you didn't buckle her in while leaving the school parking lot, you can officially consider yourself no longer a rookie.

And last...for now...you know you're a rookie mom when no one is calling you for advice. Or maybe I should say you know you're no longer a rookie mom when someone does call you for advice. And it is a pretty good feeling. {Even if you don't know the answer...}