Last week, I was pondering the apparent recklessness of my early motherhood by allowing PunditGirl (then merely a PunditBaby) to toddle around with water, juice and milk in brightly colored sippy cups.

I didn’t know then what I know now about the possible chemicals that can leech out of the plastic after many uses and washings. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. Granted, there’s nothing I can do about that now, but how can I be more vigilant going forward?
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Here’s my “sad” tale — I just traded the five-speed red BMW with the moon roof for a Honda CRV (it still has a moon roof, though).

I say things to my second-grade daughter like, “Because I said so.”

I like my sensible shoes.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. But I fear I have fallen into the “I’ve Become My Mother” syndrome that I swore would never happen. And I’m scared.

Is it reversible?
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