My, it has been awhile since my last post, hasn't it? And since my last comment to any of you. I haven't been utterly swallowed up in toddler hell, I assure you, though at times I've felt awfully close. Just busy with life as mama of three. After around seven weeks, I believe I'm getting the hang of it. Planning dinner before lunchtime helps. And I've found that I better start cooking around 4:00 to be sure that after a gajillion interruptions it might actually be ready by our 6:30 dinnertime. I do laundry less often, but I do enormous quantities of it when it happens. And I've figured out how to wipe Bean's poopy bottom after she visits the potty WHILE I'm nursing her baby sister, thank you very much.
It's definitely busy around here, and I once again celebrate wine o'clock every night to reward myself and, let's be honest, to keep from utterly blowing apart at the end of my very long days.
So given all that, are you surprised that I left the midwives' office last week after my very last pregnancy-related appointment ever in tears? I was surprised. My 6-week check-up this time around marks the end of my baby-making career and it makes me very sad. Do I really want a fourth child? I really don't. I want my body back and I want to believe that Husband and I could have the time and money to travel again one of these days. I also look forward to being the mother of adolescent, then teen-age, then grown-up girls.
But it's still hard to be done with babies.