Becoming a mother was a life-changing experience for me. And not in the super fake, “parenthood is magical, it is a gift, a miracle and yes, I am over the moon and my child is the most beautiful, sweet, magical baby in the world” kind of way. (Yes, I’m talking to you, Bethenny Frankel, even though I love you and the housewives.) Rather, motherhood changed my life in that it completely shifted the way I perceived other women.

I regret saying that I’ve probably been a bit too critical of women. For some reason, I always held women to a high standard, and expected perfection. In the past, if a woman did or said something offensive, I was usually over her and the relationship. Then I had a child and my attitude completely changed. Women, and especially mothers, could do no wrong. I became a lot more tolerant, and a lot less critical. What I know now is that I have no business condemning other women when I am far from perfect. We are all doing the best we can, living our lives, and making it through another day.

In many ways, I am a different person than I was ten years ago. I like to think I have evolved. I learned to forgive and forget, to sympathize instead of criticize, and to acknowledge other ways of mothering that are different from my own. Now I shrug and say things like “It happens to the best of us” or “You do what’s best for you” or “She’s probably just exhausted, she didn’t mean to call me a crazy bitch”.

Sometimes I need to remind myself, though, that other women may not have had their own moments of zen. So a woman might say something without realizing that it’s a little bit rude. That’s why I’m passing out the memo to any woman who hasn’t yet reached enlightenment. Here’s a word of advice: If you are out and you see my child running around, perhaps a little bit out of control, do not say that he reminds you of your parents’ dog.

Now I know some people love their dogs like children. I’m not one of those people. My child isn’t a dog. He doesn’t bark and he doesn’t wag his tail. He is a happy, healthy, innocent, chubby-faced, crazy-haired, fun-loving kid with boundless energy. And more importantly, he has a mother who is sitting right next to you, and she just heard you compare him to a dog. And she’s not amused. In fact, she’s so pissed off that she is speaking about herself in the third person.

I carried a child for what felt like a lifetime, and gave birth to him in what was in my mind the most difficult labor ever. (Don’t worry, I remind him of this every day.) I spend almost every waking moment with him. He makes me laugh. Sometimes he makes me cry. He makes me proud, and sometimes he disappoints me. He’s not perfect, but I’m the only person who is allowed to say anything negative about him. You, on the other hand, are supposed to say he is cute, even if you think he looks like an alien. You are supposed to say he is smart and funny and engaging and darling. Or say nothing at all. But under no circumstance do you call him a dog. Even if your parents’ dog is the cutest little labradoodle you’ve ever seen.

Listen, ladies, I understand that you’re young and you may not know any better. I didn’t know any better either when I was your age. But someday if you have a child, some random girl may unwittingly give you the verbal equivalent of a punch in the stomach without even realizing it. And then you may go home and feel bad for you and for your son, who was only having a good time at a party. And maybe you’ll cry about it for a few minutes because you’re just sensitive like that.

You know better now, because you’ve gotten the memo. Luckily for you, I am evolved. I gave you a pass this time. I let the comment slide, looked away, and said nothing. Next time I may not be so nice about it. Because unlike my child (did I mention he was not a dog?), I can be a real bitch when I want to be.

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