(1) Jewellery is for the Infantless
Special occasions are now defined by my ability to wear dangly jewellery. Before getting all sassed up, I must appraise the situation: this evening, will my dinner date lunge for my necklace and cram it in his/her mouth? These days, the answer is almost always, “Yes.”

(2) If You Think An Item is Too Large to Fit in a Baby’s Mouth, You’re Automatically Wrong
It’s like a freakin’ black hole in there. It defies the laws of physics. Manderine orange, baby food jar, the head of rubber duckie — somehow, it fits. But just because it goes in easily doesn’t necessarily mean it will come out.

(3) Items Small Enough to Fit In Mouth Will Go In Other Orafices, Too
Because the ability to recognize that a Cheerio in the nose is unpleasant is, apparently, not innate knowledge.

(4) The Inverse Law of Sleepiness
A parent’s level of fatigue is in direct opposition to the child’s, and no amount of caffeine in the world will hype you up to the level of an excited toddler. Man, you could power a small city on the wattage produced.

(5) Trust Me, She’s Fast
No, really. Trust me. No, don’t just oogle her when you’re holding her because you — watch the soup! — you have to make sure you pay attention to those hands, because she — oh, teacup! — she automatically goes for the most dangerous thing within — oh, sorry, she loves eyeglasses — within arms reach. Were those frames expensive?

(6) When Mothers Say They’d Kill/Die For Their Children, They Really Mean It
When I was little, a German Shephard attacked my brother. My mother, who is very quiet and sweet and demure, took a canoe oar and fought it off him, roaring in rage, as wild as an Amazon. She charged between my brother and a savage dog, swinging the weapon above her head, and the look on her face was bestial, primal and unyielding. I was always in awe of this secret facet of my mom’s personality, but now, I get it. The mother dolphin who wedges herself between her offspring and a shark? The lioness who fends off a pack of wild dogs to save her cubs? I understand, and not in a cerebral way, because I don’t think I can fully describe that instinct, but in the past, when I’d say I’d give my life for something, it was only words. It was hollow sounds. Now, it’s blood and flesh and bone. I can feel that maenid lurking in my heart, perpetually prepared to be unleashed and defend my child. It’s powerful, and dangerous, and you know what? It’s also comforting, because it’s the primeval manifestation of maternal love.