Quotes & Sayings About Expecting Parents

Our parents, our tribesman, our authority figures, clearly expect us to be bad or anti-social or greedy or selfish or dirty or destructive or self-destructive. Our social nature is such that we tend to meet the expectations of our elders. Whenever this reversal took place and our elders stopped expecting us to be social and expected us to be anti-social, just to put it in gross terms, that's when the real fall took place. And we're paying for it dearly. — Jean Liedloff

My parents were not pushy or anything like that. I think my mom was still expecting me to be an astronaut, but now she is very happy that I'm not doing that. — Berenice Bejo

So many times, these kids know more about the technology than their parents. And so many times, we're putting kids in very adult situations and expecting them to behave like they're 40 years old. Well, that's just not going to happen. — Amy Klobuchar

Who would know but ten years ago that kids would be texting each other all the time, that that would be one of their main forms of communication. And so many times, these kids know more about the technology than their parents. And so many times, we're putting kids in very adult situations and expecting them to behave like they're 40 years old. — Amy Klobuchar

On Christmas morning, my Mam and Dad were downstairs shouting to me to look out the window.
They'd shout, 'There's Santa.'
Dad used to ring this bell and say it was one of Santa's bells on the sleigh. I could hear Santa's bells ringing as I jumped out of bed, really excited and I looked out the bedroom window in to the dark morning, fully expecting to see Santa and co magically flying through the air and maybe even he would spot me and give me a wave.
'I can't see him,' I'd proclaim in sadness and then the bells would stop and I knew he'd have gone to someone else's house, but I also knew that he hadn't forgotten me.
I'd run downstairs and in to the room whilst still in my pyjamas where the prezzies were. The excitement was unbelievable and my parents used to buzz as they watched my face beaming up at them in joy. — Stephen Richards

Suddenly a force greater than my common sense - which, I'll admit, has been pretty faulty lately, propels me - and I find myself creeping up the long staircase to the forbidden second floor.
I need to see Michael's room.
I need to find out if he is a secret slob, or if there's even more interesting evidence of whom he is up there. I'm not expecting to find anything big, like a literal skeleton in his closet. But I am going to find it, whatever it is. And I will know once and for all who he is.
I make it to the landing when I hear a burst of barking below me and I freeze.
Someone has let a dog in.
Which means that some member of the Endicott family is actually in the house.
Which means that one of Michael's parents is about to catch me snooping. — Stephanie Wardrop

When your child dies, you feel everything you'd expect to feel, feelings so well-documented by so many others that I won't even bother to list them here, except to say that everything that's written about mourning is all the same, and it's all the same for a reason - because there is no read deviation from the text. Sometimes you feel more of one thing and less of another, and sometimes you feel them out of order, and sometimes you feel them for a longer time or a shorter time. But the sensations are always the same.
But here's what no one says - when it's your child, a part of you, a very tiny but nonetheless unignorable part of you, also feels relief. Because finally, the moment you have been expecting, been dreading, been preparing yourself for since the day you became a parent, has come.
Ah, you tell yourself, it's arrived. Here it is.
And after that, you have nothing to fear again. — Hanya Yanagihara

As for the evacuee children all over the county, their loving and starving parents, having had nearly four happy months of freedom, and seeing no reason why their children shouldn't be lodged, fed, clothed, educated and amused at other people's expense for ever, saw no reason to do anything more about them and hoped that the same fate would overtake the new baby whom most of them had had or were expecting. So all the hostesses buckled to afresh. — Angela Thirkell

You know your problem, Quentin? You keep expecting people not to be themselves. I mean, I could hate you for being massively unpunctual and for never being interested in anything other than Margo Roth Spiegelman, and for, like, never asking me about how it's going with my girlfriend - but I don't give a shit, man, because you're you. My parents have a shit ton of black Santas, but that's okay. They're them. I'm too obsessed with a reference website to answer my phone sometimes when my friends call, or my girlfriend. That's okay, too. That's me. You like me anyway. And I like you. You're funny, and you're smart, and you may show up late, but you always show up eventually. — John Green

She turned back to Sophie. "First things first: are your parents alive?" "Yes," she said, blinking in surprise, not sure where this was going. "Good. And you talk to your mother?" "Yes, almost every day." Dora glanced sideways at Scatty. "You hear that? Almost every day." She took one of Sophie's hands in hers and patted the back of it. "Maybe you should be teaching Scathach a thing or two. And have you a grandmother?" "My Nana, yes, my father's mother. I usually call her on Fridays," she added, realizing with a guilty start that today was Friday and that Nana Newman would be expecting a call. "Every Friday," the Witch of Endor said significantly, and looked at — Michael Scott

All children alarm their parents, if only because you are forever expecting to encounter yourself. — Gore Vidal

When he was about twelve or thirteen he walked into his parents' bedroom in the half-house on Jackson Road not expecting his father to be there, and the old man was standing in front of his bureau in just socks and an undershirt, innocently fishing in a drawer for his undershorts, that boxer style that always looked sad and dreary to Harry anyway, and here was his father's bare behind, such white buttocks, limp and hairless, mute and helpless flesh that squeezed out shit once a day and otherwise hung there in the world like linen that hadn't been ironed ... — John Updike

In 1953, Mom and Dad, living in Toronto, discovered, to their shock, that Mom was expecting. I was born in June 1954. My parents, thrilled, showered me with love. — Dan Hill

My phone buzzes and I fish it from my pocket, expecting Tacey or maybe my parents checking in to make sure I'm okay. But it's an unfamiliar number.
Do you blame yourself?
I read the words once. Twice. I see Stella's locker door swinging open and I hear a train whistle, but neither are happening. It's all in my head. I force myself to take a breath and head outside. This text is a wrong number. It's not for me, and it's definitely not about Stella.
And then another message.
Do you wish you'd done something? What if you still could?
I text back quickly.
I think you have the wrong number.
I don't have the wrong number, Piper. — Natalie D. Richards

Some kids go walking in the mountains, but I just went to the cinema. So when I told my parents I wanted to be an actor, even though this wasn't normal for Arab kids or anyone in the town, they were sort of expecting it and were very supportive. — Tahar Rahim

Parent in a retirement home is more likely to be visited by his grown children if they are expecting a sizable inheritance. But wait, you say: maybe the offspring of wealthy families are simply more caring toward their elderly parents? — Steven D. Levitt

She was tired of being told how it was by this generation, who'd botched things so badly. They'd sold their children a pack of lies: God and country. Love your parents. All is fair. And then they'd sent those boys, her brother, off to fight a great monster of a war that maimed and killed and destroyed whatever was inside them. Still they lied, expecting her to mouth the words and play along. Well, she wouldn't. She knew now that the world was a long way from fair. She knew the monsters were real. — Libba Bray