"So You Had a Third."

This statement came to me at B's b'day party, and I can't stop thinking about it. A mom of two, whom I don't know well, just walked right up and said it. What all those other folks seem to be thinking, although with more of a question mark/exclamation mark sound. 

"Yes," I said. "We did." 

Turns out she wants more children. I've only had one other person ask me straight out what it's like to have three. The rest of the time I feel like I'm the anomaly in the town. Even though I can give you plenty of examples of moms of three if you ask, thank you very much. But hey, you asked, so here's what I'll tell you about wanting more kids. About going from having two kids to having three. 

You should consider how much control you like to have in your life. If control is something you need (and perhaps something you already feel as if you are lacking) another kid is probably going to throw you a teensy bit off balance.

Did you say you like to have sex? Well, enjoy it while you're in the "trying" phase, because after that kid comes, it may well be impossible to do the deed. Between the complete exhaustion (see below) and the fact that there are now THREE children who may need you at any point during the day AND night, well, sex just isn't that practical. 

Did I mention the total exhaustion? It is exponentially greater with the second kid, right? With the third you are off the charts. You may find yourself stumbling through the day wondering where you put those children. Not to worry, though, they will let you know with their neverending demands.

Don't worry about three more years of diapers. Really. If this is your only concern, go for it. The poop is so the easy part.

Chaos. Very similar to sleep, although inverted. The more kids, the more chaos. Off the charts. Know this.

Hugs. There is always someone to hug. (And someone who needs one...)

Noise. You will spend much of your time trying to regulate noise. Around nap times for the littlest one. And when no one is sleeping, someone will always be talking. Usually you. 

Your body. OK, folks, here it is. My body made it through two pregnancies, two births and two sessions of breastfeeding (28 months total). And then came the third pregnancy. I have not bounced back. And, it is pretty clear, I'm not going to. If I want that body back, I'm going to have to work for it. 

Longing. Do you long for another child? I did. None of the above had anything to do with it. I just knew I wanted one. I knew immediately after I had my second that I wanted one. I worried that maybe I was going to interrupt the zen of two parents and two kids (who are very sweet together when they're buddies and getting along). I worried that I was being selfish. That I was tempting fate to ask for another healthy child. But I knew in my heart and my gut that if I didn't have another child I would regret it and I would wonder What If for a long, long, long time. 

Em has completed our family. She was meant to be. And, ultimately, all that other stuff doesn't matter. I am lucky because I have a partner who is truly a co-parent. Who is understanding and supportive and funny. Who loves the children and didn't balk when I wanted three. Who knew, in fact, that I wanted a third without me telling him. It's hard sometimes (like, oh, say, EVERY DAY). But I know that we are all in this together. And that's the most important thing you need to know. It has to be the right decision for the whole family. Not just for you. I was lucky.

Hey, you need your cup. Oh yeah, my cups!

So today was all about sunscreen and baseball. In the morning, an Opening Day parade with a sweet High School gal singin' the national anthem in a quavery, somewhat hollow voice. A melee of parents with strollers and high hopes.

Being a Sunday, there were folks in Church get-up following little girls with chin length hair in flowery dresses and white buckled shoes. There were moms who had clearly taken the opportunity to coordinate their summer attire for the first time - tank tops and tiny tees dug out of attics and closets all over Connecticut. Some were just looking to stay cool and others were playing the whole "Look at me, I'm something to look at, aren't I?" But no matter, cause how comfortable can you be be in 80 degrees at 10 am at a high school football field rubbing elbows with a few thousand eager parents?

We waited forEVA as they all lined up and then happily watched the cleated midgets march in on the track and cluster about in uniformed glory as the announcer announced all kinds of perfectly pertinent and boring information. Max picked dandelions and wandered in a field. Found a man dressed as a dinosaur and shrieked with delight. Found a man dressed as an octopus and gave him a high five. Found a man dressed as a soft and lovable dog with floppy ears and cried Mommy!

The festivities subsided and the parents started their stampede to the parking lot. Jamis wandered away from his team and got lost. But as usual, he just kind of stated as such when he ran into me, without a whole lot of concern for actually being LOST - he was worried he'd missed out on some sort of goody bag he'd seen other team members of OTHER teams toting off the field.

We went home and we had lunch and we had down time. 45 minutes later Jamis was called from the basement to gear up for the actual game. And here comes the totally whacked part. I told him to pee, I laced up his cleats, I filled up his water, I directed him to his hat (which Ethan had wedged under the shopping cart in the dining room, of course), and then I remembered about our new addition to the season's wardrobe - the sports cup. Is that what this thing is called?
The picture I would really love to post here is Jamis's little white butt in these little white undies standing in the kitchen with a big fat grin on his face. The big fat grin that says to mom, crouched on the floor in shock and awe, "I'm growing up, lady, and loving every minute of it."

To quote Jamis as he pulled the briefs up and fingered the fabric, "I didn't think it was going to be..."

And I'm thinking..."Hard, big, tight?"

"I didn't think they were going to be shaped like this. Straight across. I thought they would be more curved."

Now, I'm pretty sure this resembles his choice of words. As he's talking he draws a line in his pubic area where he thought the briefs would have been cut. And I'm like, What? You aren't phased by the fact that you've got this hard 3D triangle pressed against your "weenie"?!

I called Jen the minute Jamis left with his dad for the game.

"Well I guess you opted to stay home?"

"Yeah. (Pause) I just helped Jamis get ready for the game. (Pause) He had to wear a cup. (Pause)"

I think it's fair to say that I realized at that moment, in the moment of Jen's reaction, that my boy is so BOY and growing into Man sooner than I'm ever going to be ready. And I've got to do this three times. Learn how to let go and watch them grow.

Reach the Beach Relay

I'm stuffing my face with a favorite concoction stolen from my sistah: Pita smothered with hummus, packed with pear, muenster and tabouli. Thanks, sis! I'm rehashing my week thus far - pretending that it's farther along than it is, I suppose. And now I'm harping on my coffee with Kim on Monday. We've barely been in touch since I got pregnant with my second baby - when my attendance at the gym faded to once a month, once every other and then none. We managed to talk enough to maintain contact, but since I've had my THIRD I'm barely able to maintain contact with some members of my family, let alone my workout buddies. Difficult to chat it up during a run or after a spin when you aren't doing any of EITHER. For a while I missed it, and then I grew resentful, I think, that other mothers could somehow maintain the same social lifestyle they had before kids, or when they had just one kid. Yeah, well, all those conflicted feelings were during my second pregnancy and for the short time I had but two boys - aka, Before there were Three. Honestly, I just don't have room in my brain to be worried about the thoughts of others, or preoccupied with HOW they do it, WHY they do it, and why I CAN'T. We all have a different life story going on. For instance, Kim has two kids, no job, available childcare, and financial freedom. We just don't have the same stressors. Uh, yeah... I have THREE kids (obviously), a part-time job that gives me a full-time headache, childcare that allows me to work said job and totally takes away from all that financial freedom we Wouldn't have anyway. Okay, so I'm not saying she doesn't have any worries or challenges, of course she does. Of COURSE she does. But because they aren't apparent, or don't stack up to mine, or something, I'm like "Why would I even worry or dwell on HOW she does what she does?" I can't even get my ass to the gym if I have a day by myself, let alone with kids in tow, errands to run, everyone with runny noses.

So, a little detail is in order, I think. Kim is a major athlete. Work-out fiend is more like it, I suppose. Anyway, she is training for an Ironman right now, briefly mentioned that here. You know, swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, run a marathon. She's estimating it takes her somewhere between 13 and 15 hours. Grrrrreat! Three years ago I ran the 26.2 miles of a marathon with my sister-in-law - noted by Jen here - without ever having run any more than 200m in track during high school. I mean, I'd run more than that, but never entered any kind of other race. I figured, why start with a 5k? The marathon sounds like fun. I'm adventurous, in pretty good shape (one baby!) and so I trained, I ran, I won. Won some pride, that is, and a golden finisher's medal that became my son's toy on the flight home. I did it in four hours and felt pretty good about it. Would love to do it again. Probably will someday.

During this time of training I was a regular at the gym, as you can imagine, gearing up for the marathon, making sure I was prepared. I formed a great bond with Kim during our spins, swims and runs. We scheduled our meeting times for the next day and the next week, made plans for races and event, bonded over sweat, got giddy when we were most out of breath. About a week after we pledged to train together for a Half-Ironman, I found out I was pregnant with Max. Anything's possible, I thought. No, not that anything. Sick as a dog I did finish a sprint triathlon during my first trimester - dragged my ass to the finish line and then slept it off like a bad hangover. After that I wandered in and out of my workout clothes, never really pulling them on with the same conviction I had before.

After Max was born I didn't even have enough time to flex my abs again before I found out I was pregnant with Ethan. Problem was, I had committed to this crazy Reach the Beach run with Kim and 10 others. A team of 12 run 200 miles in 24 hours. I had one of the shortest legs of the trip at 15 miles. That's broken into 3 separate runs which totally seems doable, HOWEVER you are stuck in a van with 5 other people, driving to the next checkpoint, cramped and sweaty. You run in the afternoon, the dead black of night (in the rain, as it were), and next morning. There is little time or comfort for sleep, ergo you are a running zombie by the time you reach your third run. Plus, I was newly pregnant, which is a state of mind and body that doesn't totally agree with me, and being shoved between stinky sneakers and a giant Ziploc bag of super salty roasted red potatoes (aka "running fuel") wasn't calming my queasy stomach.

But I finished it.
Slow, but I did.

So fast-forward two years. Now three kids. And I'm doing it all over again. Except for the newly pregnant part. All in all it was a blast. Lots of laughs, wicked sarcasm and dirty jokes. And, more importantly, a perfectly wholesome excuse to skip town for a day or two. Who can blame me for leaving my kids with the neighbors I hardly know if I'm out there running 20 miles? And yes, it's 20 miles this year, as I'm no longer a newbie and a preggo. And no, not the neighbors; I'm pretty sure it will be my mother-in-law watching the kids this year. If not, I'll be dumping them on you, Jen. :)

So here's the thing. Dan and I are doing it together. Have I run much in the past year? Nah. Do I wish that I did? Yup, yes sirree. But let's not harp on the past, I have over 4 months to prepare myself for this event, which is pleeeeeenty of time to get my ass, I mean my act, together. Plenty. More than enough. Problem is...time! With work and kids and dishes I am a little short on time. But I can no longer make these excuses so...instead of locking the kids in the basement when I need some time to breathe in peace (well, muffled peace), I will have to start locking myself in the basement to run on the open treadmill (wish I could put ROAD there, but then I'd have to lock my kids in the house and that's just too much disaster to have to clean up when I get back). Or maybe since it's Spring, by gosh by golly, I can lock them outside instead. Oh yes, outside. Otherwise I have to run at 5 am or 8 pm, just not ideal. My body doesn't particularly like to move at those times of day. Hmmm. Whatever course of action I take I'm sure it will be considered endangering the welfare of a minor somehow. Even if I were to ditch work and run at 11 am so I didn't have to lock anyone in or out of my life, I'm still in the novice stage of exercise where one's legs turn to jelly while the brain is happily hyped up on endorphins before it takes a serious nose dive into "what did you do to me?!" By the time I pick the kids up again I'm not sure what state of mind I'll be in - at least until I adjust to this whole exercise thing again, if that's possible.

Stay tuned, oh 4 readers of the Momalom blog. Wait, one of them is me, I guess that makes it three. I am hoping that publishin this to the almighty and totally anonymous Internet I will be encouraged to get and keep my ass moving long enough to even sustain the thought of running 20 miles again.

OH! And the reason I even mentioned Ironman Kim? Well, it's hard to sit and have coffee and chat about the logistics of Reach the Beach when you damn well know you've barely moved more than is absolutely required to take care of your kids and your house. I looked at her and told her the whole "time" spiel - the "I have to wake at 5 to run or else do it after bedtime, you know..." Except, she DOESN'T know, and I just ended up feeling like an ass. So then I tried to justify it with: "I can't even describe to you what happens when you go from two to three kids, Kim, I just can't even describe, I... I....I... It's crazy." How profound, "crazy"? Ooooh, great description. But really. It IS crazy. And I guess I felt as if I needed to validate myself somehow. Validate my flab. Part of me thinks that being a dress size or two bigger is totally acceptable given the demands of my life and my job. And part of me thinks that if I want anything badly enough I will make time for it. Find a way. Live the way.

And then reality hits when the baby wakes in the middle of the night AGAIN. Which wakes the toddler because he's sick AGAIN. Which leaves me laying in bed listening to Al Rescate and Say Click, Take a Pic over and over again, taking kicks in the small of my back. When we finally get back to sleep at 3 am I am not about to wake up in 2 hours for a grueling 3 miles on the treadmill even if I get to watch In Treatment on the new tv. The 2 hours between Max closing and opening his eyes again could barely be considered sleep (to me) anyway. Every 1o minutes I am kicked again, punched again, as Max twirls around the king-sized bed like a little curly helicopter.

There is no profound ending here, nor realization. It's hard to make choices, to be decisive, to set goals, have plans, stick to them. And even though I know that there is a deadline for this Reach the Beach relay, and that it isn't until September, my life is so hectic that I can make no guarantees I will be as ready as I ought to be. All I know is that I will show up. Happy to be free from wakeup duties, breakfast duties, and changing doodies.

Oh Brother, How Art Thou? and other philosophical ramblings

It seems time to mention that we have a brother. Oh, and, yeah, he has three kids, too. What is this? you're asking yourself. Three siblings each with three children now. Weird. Is it, though? Seems like nice symmetry to me. And we really didn't plan on it. No sirree. 

Our brother is the middle child. I suspect he felt and/or tried to be invisible for much of his childhood. Sarah and I, well, we tended to have the attention. Me being the perfect, overachieving oldest, and Sarah being the rule-breaking, boundary-ignoring, creative genius youngest. There was our brother, smack dab in the middle, quiet, understated and probably embarrassed by one or both of us on any given day. The poor, poor kid. But he sure grew up to be one exceptional dude. I only wish he didn't live so damned FAR AWAY. But I digress. 

So once, about, oh, say three-and-a-half years ago (when I was the only one of the three of us with more than one child), he said, "Anyone who has more than two children is crazy." I remember laughing. Because this is just the sort of seemingly-judgmental, absolute thing that our brother says. He's a bit of a math genius. And I can see that the numbers of two parents and three kids do not add up neatly. But I swear, the moment those words left his mouth, he was just asking for those twins of his to start their lives in utero. Yup. The planner of the family had three kids in 20 months. Sarah and I each have two kids who are less than 18 months apart in age, so we know it's HARD. But this time, it's our brother who got himself right into the spotlight. Just where he never wanted to be. 

But here's the thing: Man oh man, is he a great dad. And the three kids have not really changed him that much. I mean, besides the obvious facts of being a dad, he, more than anyone else I know, has maintained his pre-parent lifestyle. And I don't know how in the WORLD he does it. (Well, I know it has a lot to do with his amazing wife.) He exercises regularly, often training for a crazy-ass bike riding competition through the desert, on which he subsequently medals or achieves some ridiculous feat (our sister-in-law runs marathons; people, she ran one WHILE PREGNANT WITH TWINS. Ooh, this will probably make some of you concerned. She didn't know she was pregnant at the time); goes away on weekends with his friends (and so does said wife); is finishing the basement of his house (for the kids); is always taking a class or studying for some career-enhancing test of some sort; and, when I talk to him (which is never often enough) he always sounds just like my little brother. Reasonable. Relaxed. Happy. 

Me, in comparison? OK. Exercise. Um, I used to be an athlete. Even worse, I used to be a COACH of a very competitive sport. Ugh. Remember the bread-dough middle? Well, I haven't gotten into the damn pool yet. I do go to a book group once a month, which I look forward to for approximately 27 days and 22 hours. These women have become intellectual companions, emotional sounding boards, good friends. But a weekend away? Uh, no. Not with the girls. J and I have gotten away from the kids a few times. Ooh, that sounds bad, "Gotten away from..." And forget about home improvement, I can't even keep on top of the daily maintenance. I have PILES upon piles of stuff--laundry, endless children's "art" projects; seasonal clothes to put away in the closet or finally organize in dressers; bills; broken toys that I keep saying I'll fix ... Every day I tell myself, often out loud (!), that I will confront one of these piles. Just one room, one area of one room. But it doesn't happen often enough. The piles multiply faster than I can conquer them. 

Now even this post feels like it's becoming like one of those piles--lost amongst the midst. Well, that's what life with three kids is. Even if you are more high-functioning than I am. I know that it's not fair to really compare my life with three with our brother's life with three. There's the twin aspect, of course. But, also, he's not the mother. And, Sarah, really, isn't that what we spend all of our mobile minutes talking about? Mothering three. MOTHERING.