We talked about how we wanted our kids to have another sibling. We wanted Archer to have someone close to him in age. And we felt like our family just wasn’t complete. But at the time our house was just too small and we weren’t ready to sell it because Archer was so small and moving with a little baby sucks. And I certainly wasn’t ready for more infertility treatments. In fact, I didn’t think I could take the treatments again, ever. The first two times nearly killed me. So we decided no. We weren’t going to do it. As much as I wanted a third baby… we were done.
Then we were surprised by Ms. Vivi and all those worries just went away. We moved, with a toddler and a little baby. Yes it sucked, but I love the new house. And she’s perfect, sweet, funny, loving, and such a joy. And I didn’t have to go through the infertility treatments to have her!!! I feel incredibly blessed by our little miracle girl.
What’s interesting is that since she was born, we have discovered some things about having a third kid that no one tells you. So here’s six things that no one tells you about having a third kid.
You’ve moved to zone defense:
With two kids, you have one-on-one coverage. One parent per kid… so the odds are good you can catch the falling crap and you know what’s going on. With three, you’re just screwed. Zone defense may work on 11 HUGE men on a football field, but not on 3 little Houdini-like minions. Invariably, you will miss something, and there will be blood, crying, broken toys, and someone pointing at someone else and saying “BAD BABY!” while tears are streaming. Yeah… you’re screwed. Just give up and cover everything in baby-proof foam and move on with your life.
You can no longer use one babysitter:
There’s some conspiracy among the babysitters. I swear these ladies talk to each other. When I was a kid, I babysat three kids at once. I hiked my rates a little, but I did it and I was good. Now, though, that’s one huge bucket of NOPE. This is how the conversation goes:
Babysitter: “How many children?”
Babysitter: “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was three. I will have to call my friend to see if she’s available to babysit with me and the cost is double.”
Me: “Nevermind. I’ll celebrate my anniversary with my husband after everyone gets a bath and is down to bed. I think Applebee’s has pickup as an option.” We haven’t been on a date in over a year. ~sigh~
Suddenly the world sees you like they see the Duggars:
I had ONE more kid…. not a litter. Lady at the store, I am not the sole reason for global warming. Please put your organic celery water in your cart and walk away. I don’t need you to expound to me about how my carbon footprint is huge because of my children. And she’s not the only one. At least once a week someone lectures me on my reproductive actions. My uterus, people. Please keep out.
The laundry breeds:
Holy mother of Jehoshaphat…. WHERE’S IT ALL COMING FROM??? I just WASHED three loads YESTERDAY!!! WHY ARE THERE THREE MORE?!?! And you now have 27,653,480.3 unmatched socks consisting of Star Wars, MLP, Superheros, and farm animals. I just… ~sigh~
Dinner resembles a drunken frat party without the beer pong:
Everyone’s doing their own thing, some people are randomly wandering around drunkenly, there’s one guy sitting and eating, but you aren’t sure what he’s eating cause it wasn’t what was served, the rest of us are just trying to catch the flying objects, yelling at the person feeding the stray pets, and lamenting about us parents not being able to eat until 10 pm, which theoretically is when they are all asleep.
The cute is just cuter to the 100th degree power:
One baby? Awww… so cute.
Two kids? Older kid snuggling with the new baby. OMG… painful cuteness. Hurts to watch.
THREE KIDS? Holy cow. You get that 8 year old in there holding the 10 month old up while she’s learning to walk, and the 2 year old is kissing the 10 month old on the forehead, and they are all giggling that painful cute kid giggle, and they are all in matching superhero sleepers and the cute is officially lethal. There is no more cute beyond this. Just give up. I swear there are days I think they practice behind closed doors just to kill me so they can get away with more crap. Sneaky little punks.
Plagues are real:
One kid gets pink eye, give up. Someone needs to just quit working for a week, cause the second you get one clear, BAM, the next one has it… rinse repeat. Then you get it, just for fun. Usually you get it before the second kid gets it, so you are sick while caring for the next two little germ magnets. God didn’t bring the plagues to Egypt… children did.
Now, don’t think that any of this means I wouldn’t want to have my three kids. I LOVE them. I am VERY blessed that God gave them to me and I’m aware of how much of a gift they are. Anyways, they are more entertaining then cable and there is nothing better than their hugs and kisses. But it would have been nice if we knew what we were facing, so here’s me letting you guys know. Three kids means chaos and fun. It means dirt and grime and hugs and belly laughs followed by snorts and sticky unidentified things and broken stuff and those sweet little voices saying they love you followed by little butterfly kisses (or big cheek licks, if we’re talking about Archer). Best thing I ever did. So don’t be discouraged if you want three or more. Just prepare yourself. Your life, as you knew it, is about to change.