Super fat old bag Tuesday

A title totally unrelated to anything I'll write beneath it, but I was having a bit of fun at my own expense last night.

There have been a dozen times at least in the last few days that I've meant to sit down and blog something about this busy kid-full life of mine, but alas! I'm just too damn busy. I think I can manage a few odds and ends, though, before all hell breaks loose between Sister and Bean playing upstairs and the baby about to wake up and begin yelling for milk in her bouncy seat next to me.

Okay. Deep breath.

Bean is potty-trained! She even skips a diaper at night because Husband kept forgetting to put them on her after her bath and she was making it through just fine. Score a point for us!

Sister is still utterly absorbed in her library book about puberty. She's making all sorts of funny connections, though, because she is after all still only 9. For example, today in the car she asked me if a "con-dome" was just for boys. I confirmed that it was indeed something that only male members of the anatomy club could wear. (Get it? Get it? I used the official p-word when I said it to her, though.) She then smirked and said smugly, "So they have a tampon kind of thing, too!" I tried not to laugh. Oh, and Husband found the book open in front of the toilet last night when he went up to run their bath and looked to see what page she was on. I won't write it hear for fear of pervs, but it rhymes with master station. Husband's a bit freaked out, I think, but I assured him she probably already knew all about it if my experience as a young'un was common. (What the hell else is there to do when you're 5 and confined to your bunk with chicken pox, I ask you?)

Our Sweet P is a darling, easy baby, super smiley and thrilled to squeals to see a friendly face (or an interesting blanket, or the cat, for that matter). I can't remember life without her and I'm still sad she's the last one for me. Husband suggested that "Some people start looking forward to grandkids" when I told him I was sad to have put an end to my procreative life. No rush for that, though! Maybe I'll go be a volunteer baby holder at the hospital when my little ones are all big and I get a jones for something tiny to hold.

I'm feeling old all of a sudden, but this life is a very, very good one.

Done now

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.