Do not be fooled by my greasy hair or my yoga pants. I am a freakin superhero.

Quick update: I have 3 kids now.  It happened in the super early morning on Sunday, November 24th, when I woke up with one of those classic "oh crap I think just peed on myself" moments.   Luckily, I was sane enough, even at 1 am, to conduct a science experiment on the matter (Develop a hypothesis.  Test the hypothesis. Like, go ACTUALLY pee, then note the basic differences in sensation.  Take thorough notes.) and felt suddenly quite certain that I had NOT peed myself, but had, instead, gotten my water all broken.  7 hours and a buncha stitches later, and boom.  It was done.  We got this:

Uh-dorable.  I know, right? His name is Harper Reid and he is precious to me.

Three kids is... interesting.  Three kids is a game changer.  When my second was born, I would've told anyone who asked that having 2 kids was somehow easier than having 1.  First off, you've been there done that.  You're an old pro.  Then, you have a 2 year old to hang out with if you're bored, and who is happy to do small chores like throwing away diapers and retrieving blankets from the other room.  It was nice.  It was relatively peaceful.

And now I have 3.  And I've forgotten what the definition of peaceful is.

I keep having the same image come to mind.  Basically, having 3 kids is like juggling.  Except I have no idea how to juggle, so having 3 kids is like tossing raw eggs into the air and then watching as they splat to the floor.  And also you haven't brushed your hair in almost a week.

The first evening I spent alone with my children (Real quick: when did it suddenly become so terrifying to be alone with my own children?  When did that become a marker in my life?) was the night before Thanksgiving.  I planned. I made lists.  I hustled.  I reheated my frozen enchiladas for dinner while I boiled yams to prep my side dish for the following day.  I prepped my pie crusts.  I fed the baby then put the older kids at the table for dinner, then pulled out pajamas and church clothes while I prepped their bath.  I smirked to myself that, as long as you're on top of it, having a larger family isn't so bad at all.

And then suddenly I turned around and my eldest was screaming because I had asked her to pick up her toys and she didn't want to pick up her toys. The middle child was screaming because I served him enchiladas when he REALLY wanted corn dogs.  The baby was screaming because he is a baby and babies want to be held constantly, and holding a baby constantly didn't fit into any of my to do lists.   And I wanted to be screaming because they were all screaming.  And also, I was about 3 days post- having pushed an 8lb 5oz human out my hoo-ha, and my everything was still very much in pain.  So there was also that.

With my face distorted in terror, with my eyes bulging out of my face, with my hands shaking helplessly at my sides, I stood there, frozen, and watched the eggs splat at my feet.  What.  The Bloody H. Did I get myself into.

Having said all that, I'd been dreading today.  I had a "Me and the 3 Kids Go to the Doctor" trip planned, wherein each of the older two would be receiving shots.  Screaming, flailing, bolting through the entire clinic... I just couldn't imagine a scenario wherein this would not be a painful, horrible, make you question the existence of true good in this world, kind of day.  Certainly, my biggest juggling feat to date.    And yeah... I'll be honest.  There was screaming.  From all of them (and to a lesser extent me), at different points.  Once, though, the two boys cried in unison, and then stopped at exactly the same moment.  It was FANTASTIC.  I'm thinking of sending them on tour.  Then my daughter cried (or more accurately, made very loud and embarrassing WAAAAAAAAHHHH noises) for a solid 10 minutes in anticipation of her shot, and then all the way to the car and most of the drive home. (PS: All she had done was a TB test and a finger-prick blood draw, get freaking OVER it child and stop acting like someone just tried to remove your spleen without using anesthetics.)  However I was eventually able to convince her to stop by suggesting that maybe, if the shot still hurt that bad, we should head back to the doctor's and have him take a look.  Suddenly, crying didn't seem so important I guess.

So long story shorter, we all survived the day.  I'm learning how to juggle.  And I'm also learning some cool new parenting techniques like scaring your children until they shut the heck up.  And that is why I am a superhero.  The end.

Oh yeah.  So here's a picture of us, first day home as a... "family".

Merry 5 days till Christmas!