Many friends have texted me over the past few weeks asking how the transition to three kids is going. The fact that I haven’t had a chance to write a blog post (and am now typing this standing up while my infant is strapped to my body) should tell you something. But for what it’s worth, here is a quick list of what having three kids looks like up to this point.
So far, having three kids looks like…
going to the grocery store at the end of your “date night” (in which you held the baby the entire sushi dinner, ignoring the looks the server gave you as you drank a glass of wine WHILE nursing.)
always saying yes to the coffee.
nursing your baby in the Moby wrap at the pumpkin patch (that’s a 301 skill, people).
feeling guilty for sending goldfish as your son’s birthday treat at school.
accepting ALL the help anyone is willing to offer.
doing three loads of laundry a day.
not sweeping the floor.
wiping three tiny bums all day long.
nursing with or without a nursing cover in public.
lowering the standards for personal hygiene for everyone in the family.
adding 15 minutes per kid to get out of the house.
being told every.single.time you leave the house with all three children, “You have your hands full, don’t you?” Yes, yes I do.
wondering how to answer when your mom asks if you got any sleep last night.
praying that the screaming in the other room while you’re nursing doesn’t mean your other two kids are murdering each other (there have been bite marks…).
someone is always, always touching you.
congratulating yourself on brushing your own teeth and hair (bonus points for make-up).
feeling lousy for not spending time with your other children or husband.
not feeling sexy. Ever.
thanking God that someone invented a way for you to wear your baby so you could cook dinner, eat, write, give your son a haircut, and go anywhere “hands free” (ahem, holding the hands of your other two tinies, that is).
wanting to high-five everyone in the preschool drop-off line because not only were you on time, but you managed to get everyone inside without injuring themselves.
asking for three extra weeks of meals on your meal plan so that your mom says, “You’re STILL getting meals?” Yes, mom.
accepting that showering is a luxury.
someone is always, always crying (and sometimes it’s you).
your husband majorly picks up your slack and though you mostly want to yell at him for no good reason (hello, hormones), you know he is the one holding the house together and you love him for it.
eating the proverbial crumbs under God’s table because you are just too tired to be a spiritual “success.”
LOVING my minivan. Seriously.
wanting to kiss the friend who spontaneously stops by to take your two-year-old for the morning.
letting go of all illusion of control.
loving my mother even more than I already did.
marveling that you operate on so little sleep.
trusting that this is a short season in the scheme of things and that one day you will actually miss this.
Some have told me that three is the hardest transition, though I hoped it wouldn’t be true. I’ll let you know what I really think when I emerge from the fog! For now, I wouldn’t say we are thriving, though we are surviving, so keep the meals coming!
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Leslie, reading this both brings smiles and compassion :). HUGS from Denver!!