Warning: Extreme Whining Alert.
When Sir Monkeypants and I were deciding whether or not to have that third kid, the biggest argument against was the fear of total chaos. We felt like we were barely on top of having two kids, and didn’t want to mess with the delicate equilibrium.
But then we decided to go for it anyway. I remember saying to Sir Monkeypants, “It’ll be a few years of absolute craziness, but after that, it’ll be years and years of absolute joy.”
The first year was actually okay. We saved aggressively so Sir Monkeypants could take a three month parental leave, which eased the transition for everyone and helped me recover from my C-section. Once he was back at work, Little Miss Sunshine was happy to be confined to her exersaucer or playmat, and the older two played happily together while I managed (barely) to stay ahead of the chores.
I thought we might have some scheduling challenges that year, but it all worked out fabulously well, too. Sir Monkeypants would drop the Captain at school; three days a week I’d drop Gal Smiley at preschool, then have a whole hour to myself while the Little Miss napped. The school bus would drop the Captain at our door just in time for a quick snack before we’d all truck over to get the Gal.
The second year was a breeze. Both the older kids were on the same school schedule, the bus stopped right outside our door again, and the Little Miss stopped napping in the mornings so we could even go out and do the grocery shopping or Christmas shopping or even just go to the park.
I thought I had it all figured out.
Then came the third year.
This year is going to be very loooooong.
I thought by now I’d be back into the swing of things, back into a schedule, back making it all run like clockwork. But holy CRAP, we are BUSY.
I tried to do the grocery shopping this morning, as I always did on Tuesdays last year, but it turns out that the morning is now not quite long enough to get to the store and back. That’s because we have to be home a whole hour earlier than last year, so we can leave in time to walk over to the school for dismissal time; last year, since we were the last bus stop, I didn’t have to be home until a whole half hour after dismissal time.
The morning is also not quite enough time to get to the mall, and not remotely enough time to visit any stores that open at 9:30 or later.
Once we pick up the Gal from morning JK, the Little Miss has to eat and nap, so we are stuck at home. Then we walk over to get the Captain, and by the time we get home and he has a snack and stops whining about the walk, it’s time to make dinner.
Where the heck does the day go?
Last year I was so on top of things. I did all our shopping during the week, I took the Little Miss for various activities, I did dinner prep hours in advance. I took all three kids to the park almost every day when the weather was good; when it wasn’t, there was plenty of time for crafts or riding bikes in the basement. We had a rhythm: work, eat, play. It was all in there.
Now I feel like a chicken running around with my head cut off.
I guess this is the “few years of absolute craziness.” Guess it’s time I paid my dues.
(That third one was still totally worth it, though.)