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Monday, March 14, 2016

Three.

We're just over five weeks in to being officially outnumbered by children, and I'm just feeling some urge to talk about it a bit. So let's just roll with it and see where this lands us.

I have to admit that besides being nauseous, feeling gross, and eating panera's baguettes, I spent a majority of my pregnancy also having thoughts like, "oh crap-what did we do?" I promise I don't mean that to sound like having a third was any type of accident, it was not. It was thought out, we tried for her, we felt incredibly grateful to get pregnant a third time. But I can't lie and act like I wasn't nervous.                   I was.

What if we really weren't cut out to do this? 

What if 3 kids truly sends me over the edge of insanity?

The truth is, you will be FINE. We all will be fine. And each day that things feel fine and somewhat easy'ish, you will celebrate. Because once you've had multiple children you know that the inevitable of really freaking hard days will come. The days that sometimes last into years (hello--the entire age of 3, can I get an amen?). You will count very little, very average-to-normal-people-things as victories. 

You made dinner? You have makeup on? The kid's hair is done? Their outfits somewhat match? You got a shower?  Girl, let me get you a big 'ole trophy.


All that to say, we are doing good-really good, actually. But, I am not naive and I do realize we are in the easy-phase-of-baby. Hattie is a piece of cake compared to my big kids. She doesn't move, or destroy the playroom, or pee herself while standing in the yard in front of all her friends. (I'll get back to that.) She sleeps often still. She goes with the flow of our busy life. There's not much a boob or sound machine can't solve these days. 

Don't get me wrong, though. Oh, there are moments of chaos. The ones where I swear there are hidden cameras somewhere because this simply cannot be real. 

Take last Thursday for example. I was being Super Woman again, and cooking a nice meal for the family so it would be ready when Declan got home from work and we could get out the door to our community group. The big girls were outside on the playset playing with their neighbor friends. Hattie was in her rock-n-play in the kitchen right near me, sleeping away. 

It all was going so smoothly. And then suddenly it wasn't.

One kid of mine came to the back door screaming hysterically, I was certain she had broken a bone or something. Nope. She stepped on a snail shell, in her bare feet. She wasn't hurt, oh no--not at all, she was just absolutely appalled and disgusted, and hopping around on one foot gasping for breath between cries for me to GET IT OFF, ALREADY. 

I run to her, leaving 3 burners going on the hot stove (giving myself about 45 seconds to handle snail situation), and noticing that Hattie is now awake and suddenly equally as pissed off. Hattie must wait.

I pick up the limping-one-footed monster and run her down the hallway to the bathroom to rinse her foot off from snail shell disaster. Her face is almost purple from crying so hard. I pat her tush and tell her to run along and play, she will survive this, I believe in her. (fist bump)

Hattie is still freaking out. Burners still going. I flip some food around so it doesn't burn, while rocking the rock-n-play with my foot, and trying to get the pacifier back in her mouth. She isn't having any of it. She is ticked.

Just as I go to pick her up, Emeline runs to the door and yells, LUCY IS PEEING LIKE A DOG. 

A series of expletives go off in my head. Fabulous.

Again, I'm so sorry Hattie! You must wait! I eye-up all my food on the stove, turning the burners down quick, and run out to the backyard to see my 3 year old standing there, fully clothed, legs spread apart, with pee dripping from her.

I see them laughing (Lucy included), as if it was some sort of show. Am I living in the twilight zone? What is even happening here? I yelled some sort of way that must have scared the crap out of the neighbor kids because I saw them slowly shrink away out of my eyesight as I grabbed Lucy and darted her into the house. I hear the baby still crying. "Sorry, Hattie". I yelled. 

I'm doing some sort of acrobatic pull-all-her-clothes off, put-her-on-the-potty, while also asking her 349038409 questions like, WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU THINKING? and YOU NEVER PEE YOUR PANTS--THIS IS NOT FUNNY, WHY DID YOU DO THIS? OMG IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING AND IS THIS MY LIFE? I wipe her up with baby wipes (another bonus of having a baby back in the house!), get her dressed in 10 seconds flat, and manage to get back to the stove without having ruined dinner, and pick up the crying, neglected infant.  I probably sent Declan a text somewhere in there to tell him how crazy his children are. 

Breathe. Everyone is somewhat taken care of now. 

That entire snail/pee/changing debacle happened in a span of 4 minutes. But in those moments it felt like an e t e r n i t y.

Heavens.

Life is not perfect with 3. But it's definitely not boring. 

We take the easy days peppered with random bouts of crazy (evidence above), and we roll with it. I savor the seconds the big kids are in school and I get to cuddle a little baby in peace because I know in a half a second she'll be a toddler and I'll be whining about how fast she grew. We are ooh'ing and ahh'ing over every little smile she gives us, and taking a tally of who's winning in getting the most. Emeline claims she's at 116. I'm calling her bluff on that


It's crazy, but a good kind of crazy. We're happy. It's working...and we'll be just fine.