A friend of mine is anxiously awaiting the birth of their sixth child. She is a zen goddess; her children exceedingly well behaved and educated at her own hand. I admire her, respect her, and suspect she drinks heavily.
The thought of six kids - hell, the thought of four kids - gets me all hot faced and jittery and makes me want to throw up a little. I never thought three was a lot until I had three, and then I realized three is a lot of damned kids. I look at my mother in law (with 4, 3 within 4 years of each other) and my grandmother in law (with EIGHT, Jesus Pete, I would simply DIE) and wonder how in the world they managed to raise their children with their sanity intact. Never mind raising good, loving, productive citizens, how did they survive themselves?
I will be honest, there are some days when it is only the power of prayer and cup after cup of strong coffee that keep me from completely losing my shit. It's not that my children are ill behaved (because generally they're not. Generally.), it's just that they're busy. And they're needy. Henry needs a nap at the exact time Julia needs her butt wiped at the exact moment Katie needs help with a math problem that I don't understand.
But, you say, it's awesome, right? Yes, it's awesome. We have brief periods of serenity punctuated by prolonged bursts of insanity. At the end of every day, I am tremendously tired and incredibly grateful.
And totally sure - three is enough.
P.S. Dear Husband: Make the damned appointment already.
P.P.S. Dear Reader: Go give me the old thumbs up, will you?
2 hours ago