There’s something about me that you all should know.

I’m basically a doctor.

I say this for a number of reasons.

#1. I am a hard-core, Type-A New Englander with a penchant for neurosis about my children’s health. Hence, I Google a lot of symptoms. I also have two children. So multiply those Google searches by two. You know what, scratch that. Go ahead and square the number of Google searches. Just trying to keep it real.

#2. Over the course of the last three months, I have watched every single episode of Grey’s Anatomy from season 1 through season 10. So if I nod knowingly while you’re explaining to me the ins and outs of your mother’s recent laparoscopic craniotomy, it’s because I’ve basically assisted Dr. Sheppard with nearly 500 similar procedures.

#3. Because I toggled back and forth between a nursing and journalism undergraduate degree, then took about four years to complete my master’s in communication disorders, I have roughly enough schooling under my belt to be an actual physician.

Now of course I realize I am not a real medical doctor, but I have acquired a knack for self-diagnosing a few motherhood maladies that I’d like to share with you all. Maybe we share some similar afflictions.

WebMD for Moms

Chutes and Ladd-itis

I don’t mess around when it comes to playing board games with my children. Inevitably, there will be a winner and a loser in these games and I’ll be d*mned if I’m always going to take the fall. So I play to win.

Unfortunately, the board game gods apparently do not like to shine their favor on mothers who try super hard to crush their children’s dreams of Hasbro greatness. And as such, I am yet to win a game of Chutes and Ladders without cheating.

It’s like these chutes just appear out of nowhere!

Snitchers Syndrome

I like to keep my diet fairly healthy and do a pretty good job of eating a plant-based, whole foods diet. However, when left unchecked my Snitchers Syndrome can cause compulsions to eat things I had no intention of consuming. Peanut butter and jelly crusts, pretzel crumbs, humus smears – no leftover is safe in my presence.

Sometimes when I’m feeling extra stir-crazy, I daydream that my kid’s half-eaten lunches have conspired to find a way to make it to the trash can without being gobbled up. They’ve come up with some pretty elaborate hiding places. My favorite was when all the syrup-covered French toast hid under the rug in my dining room. They almost got past me that time.

Chronic Foot Laceration Disease

Since my children were old enjoy to play with toys, they’ve been leaving them strewn about my house, like pieces of birdseed scattered by a whimsical princess. This is not their fault. It is a kid’s job to learn to play and make messes, however it has caused my CFLD to flare up dramatically. Why just last week, a blue Lego was left slightly askew and at least three of its corners were able to pierce the flesh of my right foot.

Thankfully, because I’ve been living with CFLD for years now, I had medical gauze and a string of obscenities to silently mouth at the ready and I was able to keep this episode under control.

Kind of.

Although to date, there are no “medicinal cures” for these health afflictions of motherhood, I tend to think they will probably sort themselves out over time. In fact, I have a feeling that I might even miss them when they’re gone.

Because when there are no more games of Chutes and Ladders to lose or Legos to step on, life might be slightly less painful, but it will certainly be far less wonderful.