So, I didn’t really want a post about Tucker’s birthday to end up being all about me. Tucker is actually a super sweet baby (his first month I have long since forgiven him for). I super love him, and as far as babies go, he’s pretty easy. Today he sat in a high chair while I lunched with friends for an hour. With Buck and Bo this was unheard of.
But I did say more on that later about a couple of things, and the one thing I do want to tell you is the truth about this year.
It has been hard. Probably the hardest that we have faced as parents, or just as a couple.
I remember specifically telling someone my thoughts on three (Beeb, if you’re reading– this was you) pre-Tucker: Two babies is already chaos. What’s one more?
Oh, so foolish. When your oldest baby is not quite four when your youngest baby is born, one more means your chaos breeds chaos. It means that not only will your baby inevitably soak you in spit up on the way out the door, but that while you are changing your clothes and the baby’s clothes, one or both of your other children will manage to take off his or her shoes (the only ones that fit) and lose one or both of them. Or poop his pants.
Or that while you are nursing, your two big kids will get in a battle royale and you will be powerless to stop them. I mean, you’ll scream anyway, but it will be ineffective and then you will be hoarse and they’ll still be tearing each other’s eyeballs out.
Don’t even get me started on the nap situation. I spend most of nap time getting two out of the three of them to sleep. I don’t even care which two most of the time. Bo is my good sleeper, so I lay with him and read him books, and I’m usually asleep before he is on any given afternoon. The rest of them? They’re on their own. Sleep, don’t sleep. Just do it quietly and don’t wake up my Bobo or MOMMY WILL USE HER ANGRY VOICE.
It’s nuts. It’s never ending. It’s constant stimulation, constant vigilance, constant everything. Because there are JUST SO MANY OF THEM.
On particularly crazy days, I actually talk to myself while I attend to my tasks in a frenzy: There’s only one of me. There’s only one of me. There’s only one of me.
I know that there are people in this world who have had more children in less time and also, I don’t know, worked at jobs, or smiled at their husbands, or like, showered regularly.
But I am not one of them.
And I’m not telling you this so that you will comment about what a great mother I am, or how precious my children are, or whatever some such.
I’m telling you this because you see a 10th of my life on facebook or instagram, and I don’t want it to be the best 10th or the worst 10th, because those are equally annoying in my humble opinion. I just want to you know the truth.
I love my children fiercely. Our life is not hard by most of the world’s standards. We are blessed beyond measure to have each other, our house, our health.
But it’s still a struggle every day.
And just so we’re clear, I take a lot of impressively bad pictures.
Also, Mary Bullock’s hair is rarely brushed, and let’s just say, it’s a good thing this first set of teeth is meant to be temporary. I think God designed them specifically so that weary mothers could sometimes slack on this, the most MISERABLE of all MISERIES, because they’ll fall out eventually anyway, right?
But they did all survive the year, and I even managed to potty train Bo on top of ensuring their survival. Most of the time we had dinners, too.
And they know their parents love them.
And that’s the truth.