Summer has been busy and writing on the blog has been something I’ve been thinking about constantly, but never actually getting the energy, inspiration, or time to sit down and do…anything about my hot mess life. Every time I think of a post it comes up boring, or worse yet, not even a hot mess. As I sit here in my office (my dining room table) between Optimus Primal and cloud dough gone mad while my kids spend the morning at my parent’s house I think about how some days this mess is the worst thing to happen to me. Finding space at our gigantic dinner table to actually eat, hoping my husband won’t notice his plate is sitting in the sticky honey mess from snack time (I blame the geniously chosen hand scraped table from World Market…worst purchase a family with small sticky oatmealy children could have made), and hoping my kids don’t think anything of it.
Like I said, I kept thinking things weren’t hot or messy enough to be interesting. Like my life is so regular and ordinary without any major moments of pain, hilarity, or danger to be worth documenting until I took a step back, looked at my life right now, and realized there’s one big hot mess happening right in front of my eyes.
Baby #3 is coming in a matter of weeks. We’re all a little freaked out about it. Well, everyone except Hudson who just goes on about his almost 2-year old business in complete care free mode. He’s different than my first one was when it came time for baby #2. He’s a little more oblivious and more like what I imagined kids to be like when more babies arrive. Ryter on the other hand…breaking my heart for the second time.
We’ve done everything I promised to do. We’ve talked about the baby. We’ve prepared for the baby. At least once a week he picks the gory magazine the OB gave me in my “yay, you’re having a baby” welcome pack so we can look at all of the pictures of the baby growing inside me month by month right before he drifts off into a blissful, multi-time waking, wetting the bed sleep. We’ve discussed epidurals, mommy’s pain, spending time in the hospital, umbilical cords, placentas, and lanugo. We’ve talked about names, what if it’s a girl (he’s not having that!), how he’ll be the big responsible brother-mommy’s little helper.
Then I realized, what I imagined as fun, interesting, and something only he and I could chat about, has become an amazing amount of pressure. This time, though, he’s 4. What were acceptable 2-year-old tantrums have turned into downright nasty moments. He talks back to me, like a lot. It just happened. One day he just started yelling at me and blatantly refusing to do anything I asked of him. Sure, part of it is being 4. I get that. He’s not perfect, no children are. They’re all a healthy dose of Jekyll and Hyde, but woah! He called me a bad person. He’s being really honest I guess. At the moment I told him we had to leave the playground because giving him 3 chances to stop talking back to me about putting his shoes on was enough…I guess I was a bad person to him. Does he really know what it means to be a bad person? Of course not, but it hurts when you hear your kid say stuff like that.
I haven’t even had the baby yet and we’re already in survival mode. Just trying to smooth over all of these icky moments, make it to the next one, and hope nobody gets too hurt, scarred, or forgotten about in the process. Exciting moments are on the horizon that will make the next 5 weeks fly by I’m sure. Between birthdays, visits to the grandparent’s house twice, more birthdays, a wedding, and school starting, September 21 will be here before we know it. We’re rearranging the biggest boy’s bedroom, making space for baby “Skeleton” in the guest room, and turning a baby room into a big boy room.
While all of this is happening, I just have to keep reminding myself that kids are sensitive. They know things you think only you know. They feel everything you’re feeling and it’s a lot for their little bodies to handle. Every change is an upset for them. The next few months are going to be tough as I figure out how to handle 3 kids, my kids figure out how to deal with a baby, and my husband figures out how to…just deal and before I know it it’ll be 2 years later and I’m sure I’ll be wondering how we ever made it through!