So You Want 3?

Here’s the deal.  You’ve got it totally together:  A super-independent, rule-abiding, encyclopedia-reading 4 year-old - let’s call him the “Professor”, and a creative, sweet-talking 1.5 year-old who actually sleeps through the night, a.k.a. the “Sly Fox”.  

Please.  You better challenge yourself.  Slip one past the goalie and go for the third.  Why not?  This has been too easy.  Besides, why would you only want two kids taking shots at you when you’re 60?  Three will undoubtedly be much more interesting. 

And so, after puking through the Sly Fox’s second birthday and subsequently progressing to the likeness of a ’58 Lincoln Continental (one of the largest cars ever made) whose transmission is dragging an inch from the ground (the feeling one week pre-delivery when you think your baby might fall out), out flies the third, in record time.

Good god, what has happened to your insides? (At the present, I could care less about my insides, it’s my outsides that have been freakishly destroyed, in a special way that tops the outcomes from one and two).

A blissful two months ensue, where a superwoman-like feeling overtakes you.  A voice inside you says, “ I HAVE BRED THESE THREE SONS AND WHAT BRILLIANT HUMAN SPECIMENS THEY ARE.”  Then, you begin to navigate the Professor’s foray into kindergarten, or anxietygarten, where your child gnaws real holes in his shirts as the "kinders" learn to be "kīnder".  And the Sly Fox's skillful maneuverability of everything big and small challenges your waning wits - hence, his nickname.  And of course you nurse that baby all day and night, because you are a superhuman mother, where lack of sleep is so, so, so first baby.  I mean really, if you can’t stay up for days on end and do this, what kind of superhuman are you?

And so, as part of this current chosen life path, as full-time mother at home on this island, I find my need to vent as a means for survival.  These stories you will find here, in all their colorful truths. 

I hope to get to such fun topics as why you better find yourself a good acupuncturist or psychic, why you should not take 3 boys to the Gap and what it means when your nurse practitioner tells you that you have “housewives’ knees”.

Until then, may the sleep gods grant you all your wishes.