S: Is today Saturday?
me: Um. I think so?
So far, life with three is good. I remember when Katie was born, it was a long time before two felt like more work than one. I mean, no, it was a long time before two felt like a LOT more work than one. And that is mostly true here, but not as much, simply because I don't have enough hands. I'm feeling a little like Goldilocks these days. When Katie was born, if you could have bottled my mood and sold it, it would put every antidepressant in existence off the market. If you could bottle my mood when Gracie was born, you could destroy nations. This time, I am somewhere in between. I am a lot, lot, LOT more hormonal than I was when Katie was born, but not as crushed as I was when Gracie was born. He does not sleep as well as Katie did, but better than Gracie did (this is largely a function of willingness to bedshare, really)- that is actually okay, even though it is hard right now, because Katie then grew up to be the Worst Sleeper In The History of Ever OMFG, and Gracie did really well until a few months ago when she started having night terrors (and let's be real here, girlfriend has had a ridiculous year, she's entitled to some choppy waters). He cries more than Katie did, but not as much as Gracie did. The whole experience just feels very in the middle, so to speak.
Don't get me wrong, I am trying to soak in every moment and I fight hard not to wish the days away (though I will be honest, when 4pm rolls around, I get really antsy for bedtime- the girls are both crabby and out of sorts and bored and it's hard to think of things to do to fill the late afternoons while the weather is still so crappy). Knowing he is my last baby is so hard. I really, really did try to savor the pregnancy, and that was just not happening, between all the stress we had and how utterly horrendous I felt for nine straight months, but I really am just basking in his babyhood. He's more alert every day and I just stare at his little eyes and try to memorize every little expression on his little nugget face and I nuzzle his fuzzy hair a billion times a day and his cheeks are so chubby and soft and warm and have I mentioned, the little turd already outgrew his newborn clothes?!?! I WILL NEVER HAVE ANOTHER NEWBORN-SIZED BABY EVER. I knew it would be hard, in that sense, but I had no idea how hard- I had an unpleasant pregnancy (it was not difficult, but it was not the blissed-out 38 weeks of love I had with Katie, either, not by a long shot), an absolutely miserable labor and recovery, and I have never in the history of ever had an easy newborn. But then his duck fluff hair brushes my cheek and he bobs his head, struggling to lift it up and look around and tries to latch onto my shoulder and makes his funny robot noises and finishes nursing and rests his cheek on my bewb and his whole face is completely relaxed and content and ohhhhh....I want to do this every two years from now until menopause.
I never said I was rational. But come on, can you blame me?