About 2 years ago, life was swimming along with my husband, almost 6 year old son, and 4 year old daughter. But I began to think I wanted one more baby. Would I regret not having one more? Was I too old? Both of the kids were potty trained and not actively plotting against me to the best of my knowledge. My son had some health challenges and my daughter was a handful, but was that it? You hear these stories of people being pregnant past 35, aka "advanced maternal age" and being soooooo old they couldn't possibly have the energy to take care of an infant. "Have them while you are young" ( See my earlier blog about our inability as a culture to understand being older than 30 doesn't make you a senior citizen.) Horse caca! The Jamie Lynn Spears route wasn't for me, so alas I was delighted to learn I was pregnant with my lambchop.
The pregnancy was a breeze except for the fact that I looked like I was carrying the planet Jupiter in my stomach. I had my 3rd c-section and it was easy. However, on day 2 I felt a bit nauseated and you can't throw up after a c-section. I alerted the nurse who clearly was a sadist because she offered up a combo of prune juice and milk of magnesia. What had I done to her? After refusing that delightful elixir I made a mental note not to ask her for anything. Besides that lone incident associated with post delivery, Lambchop has been an absolute cupcake. Funny, loveable, and basically perfect. But reality set in and it certainly is different having 2 versus 3.
Hello!!!! That is an extra person to get dressed, fed, and in the car. That is an extra set of hands to wash, an extra nose to wipe, and an extra person to try to persuade to listen to the Mominator. And the astronomical cost of daycare. However, we all love our Woo (that's what the older kids call him). He gives us something new to talk about, not that there was a lack of conversation with 2 kids. For example, last night my daughter was asking how old Woo was in dog years.She said, "Doesn't Woo look kind of like a chihuahua?" No, but I must encourage her imagination. There is a new person to blame for accidents. Who wrote on the wall? "Woo did that," said my son. Really? A.) He doesn't have access to a crayon and B) he would have to stand on a pogo stick to reach that part of the wall. After a parent teacher conference last Friday (we took elementary school by storm), I came home to see an exasperated sitter chasing after Woo, who was naked, laughing, and carrying a mop. The sitter had tried unsuccessfully to change Woo's diaper. Oops-nay! I neglected to tell her you have to tackle him to change his diaper.
It is crazy at our house. Kids on plasma cars wearing Spiderman masks, dogs wearing mardi gras beads and Cinderella stickers, and a cat who loves to leap out of the closet and attack your feet. Of course the floor gets sticky, hand prints are peppered around the house, and you never know what you might find stuck between the cushions on the couch. Last night, I was almost impaled by a spatula, because you know the spatula belongs between the couch cushions. You never know when someone might need to whip up some pancakes on the couch. But the laughter from those 3 beautiful children and the sloppy kisses make it all worth while. They are only kids once. The anticipation they have for going on an egg hunt or watching a train speed by is magical. I wish I could freeze those moments. They are priceless.
Until next time....
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