Holy Moly life with three is absolute chaos. Nope, I ain't going to lie and sugar coat it, you know you won't find that here. It takes at least 2 hours to go anywhere, including the mailbox, and I said, 'at least.' My Grandmother is still doing my wash for me, otherwise we would be all strutting around here naked. My kids do not eat meals at normal times, it gets to be 2 in the afternoon and I look at them, and go, 'what you are hungry again, we had breakfast at 8 a.m., your day certainly cannot be going as fast and as slow as mine.'
It is possible people to have your day move fastly slow. For instance today, we took Jacob to the doctor, bright and early. I had to get 3 children fed, dressed, peed, and in the van by 8:30 a.m. This began at 6. By 10 a.m. we had been to the doctor, Kendall stunk up the restroom there while she and E laughed hysterically out loud for all to hear that it was quite possibly, 'the worst smelling poop ever!'Ethan then promptly got his fingers pinched by an elevator door, then fell in the parking lot and skinned a knee, and Jacob, following in his sister's footsteps dropped a major deuce, which went up the back of his onesie, that Kendall then stepped on on her way out the door when we got home. And then I looked at the clock again and it was 3 pm, and I really feel as though I have done nothing, but we are all alive, and this is all that matters. And yet I sit and wonder, why am I not in my jeans yet? It is pitiful. I also laugh when I think to myself, 'gosh two was so easy.' My two tyrants, 13 months apart going for over 3 years now was easy, if I could go back in time and tell myself that I would have said this I could have saved myself alot of sanity.
But I love little Jacob. My little red headed screamer.
He cries a lot, and let me tell you that if this was my first child I would have secured that baby in that little bouncy seat, informed a friend, and ran straight out my front door and would not have stopped until I reached the Pacific Ocean. We are still trying to figure out the tears, and I do exaggerate a lot, I suppose. I mean he does coo and smile just as much. But with the tears you feel such empathy and tension at the same time, and all he is really doing is telling me that he; a. feels like a piece of crap, b. has to fart, c. is exhausted, d. is hungry, or e. wants to drop kick his brother and sister because their terroristic shouting is driving him crazy. Red headed boys have this connotation surrounding their existence that they are 'fiery.' I will keep you posted. He does have a lot of explosions out of the caboose,one might categorize as fiery, but we shall see. All I know is that it goes fast. Soon he will think that passing gas is hysterical, not life threatening. So for right now I am going to just kiss those chunk cheeks all day long. I mean they were made for that.
Birth Story to come...
