mollygog blog: October 2013

Haven't really been able to take much of a breath since Tommy arrived on July 20th. Not surprisingly three kids under three and half ain't easy. Not by a long shot. But then again, you somehow survive each day -- not because of any great skill or insight on how to do something this insane -- but more just because you have to. There is no failure option so you just have to figure it out, day-by-day, hour-by-hour and minute-by-minute. I have no idea what I'll end up doing for the rest of my life once these kids can take care of themselves, because at this rate I will have to immediately check myself into a rehab facility. My body and my mind are tired. But my heart is full because you can't deny how lucky and fortunate we've been. I mean, look at these kids!

Haven, 3 1/2

Ronan, 2

Tommy, almost 3 months

But just having healthy, cute, adorable kids doesn't exactly correlate to rainbows and butterflies shooting out of my ass on a daily basis. This job is hard. It's brutally hard. Physically and mentally. It's also mind blowingly ridiculous at times -- both good and bad. You have to laugh and cry at a good deal of it.

Here are some highlights from the depths of three under three:

36 hour labor and delivery with my third child. What? I thought my third would fall right out of me onto the floor while I was doing dishes one afternoon. Turns out, the most immediate lesson learned right from (quite literally) the moment you decide to start having kids means you will literally have no idea what to expect at any given moment or have very little control (if any) over any or all of it. Laboring for almost two days to give birth to my third child is one of those unexpected situations. Hey, at least I got to try an epideral for the first time! What in the WORLD was I thinking birthing my first two without as much as a tylenol on board will forever baffle and amaze me. Even though I was admitted on a Wednesday and had him on a Saturday (and as you can see from the photo my husband had the best nap of his life during our stay) -- it was an uncomplicated labor and delivery, totally healthy baby boy - nothing to complain about but how damn long it took and how awful having a newborn and two toddlers after being up for 48 hours was. Not fun.

Breastfeeding. First of all you don't wear white if you're a mom. You just don't. And no one smiles like this while they are breastfeeding. Whoever decided to portray breastfeeding as the most peaceful, beautiful, natural, and easiest thing to do in the world is an idiot. Don't get me wrong, the hormones produced by breastfeeding should definitely be put in pill form and sold on the street -- they could probably give heroin sales a run for their money. But other than that -- it's a bitch. Third time around -- I did know what I was doing, I guess -- but it didn't make it any easier.

Trying to referee WWF wrestling between a three year old and two year old with your one free foot because literally every other limb is already engaged in the act of breastfeeding -- well, it's just ridiculous. Yelling at the toddlers over a supposedly peaceful breastfeeding baby? Not exactly the intended image of "mother and child." I'm pretty damn sure this not what they meant by having that special time to bond with my baby. Anyway, breastfed my daughter for 10 months, my first son for three and my second son for two and half months. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive -- my NOT breastfeeding makes us a happier family. That's just the way it is for us.

Not mention some of the causalities of breastfeeding. As if motherhood doesn't lower your self-care standards to the floor as it is. How about the time I went to the playground next to our house, struck up a nice little conversation with another young family with kids only to come home and realize one of my boobs was out the entire time. You know you're at the lowest point of your childrearing career when you are unknowingly walking around outside and engaging in conversation with strangers with one of your goddamn boobs hanging out of your oversized baggy-ass nursing top. Come to think of it, the lowest self-care point in my childrearing career thus far, might have been when I went for a "run" after the birth of my first child with someone I had never met from the mom's club and slowly wet my pants about half way through the run. I think those two stories are probably tied for first place.

Haven started school. My little itty-bitty three year old commutes to a Boston Public School in the city on a school bus. Honestly, this is probably a good thing for her -- even though it's a HUGE transition and very long and active days M-F 8am-3pm. But she is a very verbal, bright (and thankfully) active kid and she would be bored out of her mind at home battling with Ronan and dealing with me feeding a newborn all day. School is better for her, I know it in my heart. And don't get me wrong, as much as I love this kid, having one less little person on my hands is a godsend -- especially with the newborn. It's best for everyone and we're all slowly getting used to the new schedule. But she's three. She's trying to process all the new things she's experiencing, riding a bus, countless new rules and a very structured school day, depending on other adults rather than me....she comes home and she's a hot mess from 3pm-7pm when we practically have to put her down with a horse tranquilizer just to get her into her bed. Three is tough. I never understood the terrible two's. Sure they tantrum at two and don't have many words which makes it worse. But three? Three seems to be some kind of psychotic break that they go through. Their minds are going a mile a minute and the line between reality and fantasy is completely blurred and they have more energy then they know what to do with. Please god, things will settle out and this decision to have her in school was the right one. But like every tough decision in motherhood -- there's a cute and adorable moment to counter your worries and fears -- that makes you feel like everything's going to be alright...like this one:

The Big Joovy Caboose. No, unfortunately this is not the name of a porno I'm recommending to get your dying post-baby-making-sex-life back on track. Instead, this sexy beast is what it takes to get your three under three around town. It's a triple stroller. And if it seems like a completely ridiculous piece of equipment that will undoubtedly put you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life or at the very least require physical therapy into your 50s and 60s -- it's because it will. As my friend describes it, "it's like pushing a wall of children."

Tommy. The newborn. Ah yes, to be back at square one again with a newborn. Sleep deprivation. Pee in your eye. Spit up in places you cannot for the life of you figure out how it got there. The breastfeeding. Or even worse, the decision to stop breastfeeding and then having to stuff your bra with cold cabbage leaves (look it up, it's for real y'all). You understand why they use sleep deprivation as a means of torture in overseas prisons. Holy shit. It was one thing when I had my first child. But sleep deprivation and two toddlers? You can see why it's better off that Haven's at school. I am a mess without sleep. But I have to say, and I know this is hard to hear when you only have one kid -- but the newborn is easy. It's the toddlers that will run you right into the ground or give you bi-polar disorder. Even saying that, Tommy is wonderful. He's really such a good baby. Going with the flow like so many people say #3 has to...he hasn't started to give us much more than four hour stretches at night -- but he's not fussy so, I'll take it. He has the tiniest little features and looks a lot less like a pudgy newborn whose cheeks you want to squeeze and a lot more like Benjamin Button. Seriously, he's 10 or 11 weeks old (who knows at this point) but he looks like he's 65 and likes to play his numbers down at the local. Either that or drive a cab in NYC. But no matter how adorably old he looks, he's not causing me a lot of grief, he's got that awesome new baby smell and he's cuddly -- something you miss when your toddlers are too active to sit still with you for five minutes anymore. He's so so so sweet in that newborn-doesn't-walk-or-talk-yet way. Knowing he's my last, even thought this motherhood thing has whooped my ass completely -- it's bittersweet knowing he'll be my last tiny little guy and that the kids will all only get older and bigger and move up and on from here on out. What a wild ride....but here he is in all his perfect, little old man glory. Oh, and one more thing. He has orange hair. Not red hair like Ronan's did at the start. It's orange. Like leaf-peeping orange. He cracks me up and I'm so glad he's here to join the crew.

Each day is totally unpredictable and unbelievably demanding. It's hard to do ANYTHING with three under three. We do lots of stuff as you will see from the following pictures. But I seriously don't know how the hell we do it until it's behind me and I'm sitting on the couch (someitmes crying into) a glass of wine feeling every bone and muscle ache in my body. This is undoubtedly the most challenging time of my life. I will be shocked to death if anything more happens in my life that could ever hold a candle to the extreme hustle I have to do day in and day out currently with these three. I know things will change. I know things will get easier as they all grow. I just hope I'm not too exhausted and broken down when it is over that I feel like I couldn't really enjoy any of it while I had them all within my reach. I wish it wasn't so hard sometimes. But it is hard. There's just no way around that. And when I do take a step back and look at pictures like these - it does help me savor the moment -- even though that's all it really is -- just one quick moment of reflection before getting right back to the work of it. But's that's ok. It really just has to be ok that way. And during all the hard work and constant running around -- man, there are some funny moments.

Really.Funny.Moments.