The 7 Face-Palm-Worthy Ways Christmas Changes After Having Kids

Your tree has a very specific, very Instagram-worthy theme, which likely involves many expensive, breakable glass ornaments.

Your tree’s branches are filled with an overwhelming assortment of handmade ornaments made of clothespins and pipe cleaners (related: how can a styrofoam ball shed two pounds of glitter every year and still be completely covered in the stuff?), and only the top half is draped in Christmas lights for reasons that are obvious to any parent of a toddler.

You dress up in a festive frock and maybe even a bold red lip (what better time than the holidays!) before enjoying jovial, complete conversations with other adults.

You don’t remember seeing 75 percent of the people in attendance as you try to convince your child that the funny-looking ham is the same edible ham that you’ve served them for lunch thousands upon millions of times. And you leave an hour after you get there because bedtimes.

'Tis the season! Why keep count?

There was eggnog?!

You wrack your brain trying to come up with the perfect gift for your loved ones, often scouting possible options months in advance. It consumes you, but the look in their eyes when they open it is worth the 27 messages you exchanged with that Etsy vendor.

You just grab whatever isn't bolted down in the toy aisle – it's like Supermarket Sweep without the windfall – and hope your credit limit is flexible.

You snap a photo with the hashtag “#letitsnow” and continue going about your day.

At the end of the night, you go to sleep.

At the end of the night, you try to coax highly neurotic (“Is Santa coming?!” “How will he find our house?” “But it’s foggy!”) kids to just go to sleep so that you can do 5,783 things but at a glacial pace because you have to creep around in perfect silence so as not to awaken said kids and ruin the magic of Christmas forever.

You wake up "early" (somewhere between 9 and 10 a.m.), leisurely make your way downstairs, whip up some eggs and coffee, and set up camp in the living room, ready to watch whatever Christmas movie marathon is on TNT.

You get out of bed – you don't really "wake up" because those two hours lying down didn't qualify as anything close to a REM cycle – to the sound of shrieking children. Even though they are clearly thrilled with their loot, their pointed thank yous to Santa, and Santa alone, make you vow never to put up with this bullsh*t again. Until next year.