You know you're parents when . . .

Nothing like routine and painful slaps in the face to remind you that you are longer young and carefree.
You're a parent.
You spend all your time telling your oldest son to get off his brother.
Sleep is interrupted by one of the following:

Screaming.
Vomiting
Fever
Boredom
A sheer desire to torture you
Feedings

You sit down to eat a meal and realize you have gotten three bites out of your whole meal. Your children are full though.

You go to get a drink only to find cookie crumbs floating in your Pepsi.

Getting ready to go someplace involves not only dressing yourself, but several other people.

You don't remember your car without car seats.

You routinely order Happy Meal and are more worried about the toy than the food.

Those weekends in bed are a memory. A fond memory, clouded in a sleep deprived haze.

Sex is a memory. And if you dare to try, you'll hear a child calling for you mid coitus, resulting in a lack of arousal for both parents. Nothing kills a good time like a child walking in the room and busting you.

Is it all worth it? Ask me in 18 more years when the kids are all in college and I can sleep in my own bed without interruption. Oh yeah. The husband and I might be able to resume marital relations by that time.

Maybe.

If he's lucky.