I sent an email to another mom today and I asked for help. I never do that. Asking for help means I don’t have my shit in order. I need everyone to think I always have everything in order. Shit included.
Even though I don’t like to admit it, after kid number 1, the order slowly began to unravel.
And now, after kid number 3, shit is everywhere. Not literally. That’s gross. But any order that was left after kid number two, is now completely gone.
And my mind. That’s officially out of order too.
I can’t find anything. And remembering anything. Forget it.
That is the exact moment I realized three kids is my max.
Three kids. My three kids. They are amazing. Mind-numbingly amazing.
And that amazingness is why every time I see a new, teeny, tiny adorable newborn baby or a pregnancy announcement, I get a little bit of a twinge. Let’s call it a baby twinge. And my mind starts talking.
Maybe just one more baby?
No! I’m done. Totally done. I have too much shit everywhere.
But then I see a mom who is pregnant with her fourth child, and that baby twinge spirals out of control. And that’s when my mind starts saying crazy things. Crazy things that I start to believe.
Maybe four isn’t so many kids.
It’s just one more.
You can handle it.
That fourth baby will force you back into order.
This is when I realized it won’t matter how many kids I currently have, I’ll probably always have that twinge to have another.
This must be how people end up with a million kids. And shit everywhere.
Three is my million. I’m gonna go get a shovel now.