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I’m Often at the End of My Rope as a Mom of Two
What will having a third do to me?
I’m about to be the mother of three. Three is like 800 percent more than one. That’s just math. Are you even a parent if you only have one child? I’m sorry, that’s my hormones talking, and also my exhaustion, because even though I bought the fancy sleep belt with the most comfortable yet nerdiest built-in side padding, it still requires me to be fully alert to turn from one side to another, which I need to do multiple times a night WHILE GRUNTING, so I spend those waking moments fantasizing about having that contraption they lift whales with at my bedside, ready at the touch of a button.
I digress.
My primary concern with having multiple children has always been that I will turn into a witchy yellhead who’s forgotten that there is pleasure to be had in life. I remember meandering out of a Starbucks with my then only 2.5-year-old, each of us taking our time, kicking rocks, pointing at flowers and interesting trash, and a mom behind me suddenly saying, “Oh my god, you’re so patient!” I turned and saw that she had three kids, all of whom were drifting in different directions, littering and veering into traffic and agreeing to accompany a nice pantsless stranger to his van, and I felt a haughty sort of sympathy for her. She’d made a mess of her life, was the…
