Raising 3 children who are a mere 20 months apart is the hardest thing I have ever attempted. I can't even begin to describe the physical, spiritual, and psychological strain of it all. It is both deliciously wonderful and horribly heinous.
Some days I don't think I'll make it. I really don't. But then God sends me the will to wipe up another puddle of pureed peaches and change 3 more diapers and vacuum up the trails of fishy crackers and somehow make dinner. And somehow we've done it day after day. I'm continuously on the brink of tears.
When Dan said he had to go out of town for a conference overnight and he wanted me to go with him, I said no. No way was I going to take this freak show on the road. I had nightmares of me trying to entertain 3 children in a hotel room while Dan was off learning about soil drainage. But Dan was determined. So I told him if he could farm Maggie out, then I'd go. He asked his mother to take her. Then my mom volunteered to take baby Willy (who will rock a bottle--Cole refuses). Did you hear that? Our mothers each took a child for 24 hours.
Leaving me one baby to take to Logan. It was incredible. I went shopping. We went to dinner. We strolled downtown with a one child stroller. We went swimming. Only one of us held a baby at a time.
I returned home somewhat renewed--even if I was right back at the grindstone the next day. For a minute I got to remember the me behind the mom. The me needs a little work.