I’ve developed a proclivity for habits my (naïve) pre-baby self would have deemed nonsensical. I’ve tried many forms of therapy — self-hypnosis, journaling, and chocolate (hoping to replace one habit with another), but nothing seems to kick my motherly addiction to the following …
1. Talking about baby’s bodily fluids, to everyone, even the nice teenage grocery store clerk who asks me how my day has been.
2. Talking in cartoon-like voices well past the time it was “developmentally stimulating” for my child.
3. Making spastic movements, and accompanying noises, when attempting to convince said child to smile for a photo.
4. Purchasing colorful plastic that is on sale.
5. The Dollar Store (See #4).
6. T.M.S.S. (Too Much Stuff Schlepping)
“I need diapers, wipes, and a changing pad for our outing. A few changes of clothes wouldn’t hurt. And, in case he gets bored, we need some books, and a few toys, and the TV tablet for desperate measures. Is it charged? I should bring the charger. Snacks, we need snacks, and water. I should bring some extra hair ties; loose hair and a poopy diaper is a recipe for disgustingness. We might need some silverware to eat the snacks. Heck, I’ll just bring the kitchen sink.”
7. Certain reality shows that make me feel better about my parenting skills.
8. Bravo and wine (together or apart).
9. Coffee coffee coffee coffee, with a splash of coffee.
10. Smelling the top of my child’s head when he’s not looking, à la über creeper status.
11. Searching for hidden sexual innuendos while watching Disney movies, with or without the kid.
12. Online shopping. Because who wants to go real shopping when you have children, and Amazon Prime?
13. Tie dying, and other unfortunate craft projects that thrill the littles for 30 seconds, but suck me in so deep.
14. Mom blogs!
15. Reading negative comments on said blogs, and lamenting with my fellow bloggers.
16. Squeezing juicy gossip out of my single girlfriends and living vicariously through their dating lives … but secretly being grateful I’m no longer dating, because who wants that headache, or hangover.
17. Talking about bodily fluids. (It warrants repeating.)
19. Internally comparing my parenting to that of others’, for better or worse.
20. Wiping something off my child’s face and sticking it in my mouth before I know what’s happening.
“That was not chocolate.”
22. Snowballing birthday parties. What starts as plans for a “simple gathering” ends in a bouncy house, sloppy homemade confetti eggs, and bubble guns.
“Who brought the bubble guns?”
23. Oversleeping. (Ha! Just kidding.)
24. Offering up my birth story to unsuspecting pregnant women.
25. Swaying side to side, à la “putting baby to sleep” rhythm.
27. Putting saliva on my hand and wiping something off my child’s face, even when there are baby wipes two feet away. (See #20.)
28. Eating dessert in the bathroom so I don’t have to share.
29. Adding an “ie” to most words.
“Baby want some egg-ies?”
“Can mommy have a hug-ie?” “Ugh-ie.”
30. Macaroni and cheese, quesadillas, and grilled cheese. My hips mourn the day I allowed my child to sample the glory of cheese melted on carbs.
Fortunately, all these habits are counterbalanced by my incurable addictions to seeing my child smile, sharing a snort-laced laugh with him, and cuddling away his tears.
31. Ending articles with cheesy sentiments about motherhood.
Related post: Motherhood: The Big Fat F You
This article was originally published on