3 Ain't Easy

Having three kids is hard. Seriously hard. Like "pick up the habit of swearing, cause your gonna lose your mind, and it's better to swear than beat your kids" hard.

Maybe it's just this kind of hard for me because they are all close in age. I mean Isaac was 3 years and 9 months old when Titus was born, for crying out loud. Or maybe all the circumstances in which we became a family of 5 was just too much for me to handle in a dignified way. 2nd child is a heart baby, Matt's starts as over-full time MBA student, hard living situation, just to name the first 3 off the top of my head.

Then there are the times when I see my first two children sitting quietly, looking at books together, laughing together, and just being peaceful; and my third child comes running through the room, screaming happily, throwing puzzle pieces all over the ground, and spiting raisins out of his mouth.  It is in those moments in which I wonder, "Titus, if you came at a later time, like after grad school and in the middle of our 3rd year during Matt's commission in the ARMY... ... ...," and I don't finish my wonderment.

I can start that train of thought very easily. Especially when I see this 3rd child run out of my bathroom covered in lipstick, or when he pulls a dozen eggs onto the ground, or when I witness him color with green Sharpie on my white dinning room bench--to name a few happenstances within the last week.

But I think there is another reason why I wonder about him coming later. I'm realizing that he is growing up. In 4 months he'll be 2, fully into toddlerhood and no longer a "baby." And it's sad. Baby days are over, soon all these young little boys will be young men. And if we really never have a child again then this chapter of "cute little outfits, snuggles in my lap, fun finger foods" is over. (I can't think, or fathom, the idea of ever being pregnant again... so please don't ask, just don't ask, if I'm serious about not having anymore children.)

...............

I do take comfort during my "emotionally confusing mothering times" from an instance that has stayed with me, and which I consider a great blessing and tender mercy from The Man Up Stairs.

It was Christmas Season 2010, during the middle of the night. Our tiny tree was plugged in and was filling the whole living room with tiny green and blue and red and yellow lights.
I had just sat down on the couch with 6 month old baby number 3, Titus, to nurse him.  As he fed, I watched. He was beautiful and sweet, and such a good feeder!

I began to sense a peaceful feeling, and then a thought: "He belongs in the family, he came when he was supposed to come." I knew it was true. And I was so grateful to Heavenly Father for that small, but powerful, revelation.

I was so much in wonderment that after I laid Titus down, and climbed into bed, I woke Matt up to tell him all the I had felt and learned.

................

As stated above, I still take so much comfort from that experience.
Titus belongs. He's supposed to be here. And he's a son of God.

But goodness, I wish he'd stop finding Sharpie markers and leave the furniture alone!