And jumping jack crackers, there aren't enough hours in the day. Breakfast with three kids is a shitstorm of breastfeeding, cereal, packing school lunches and trying to remember what day it is. Dinner is even worse. Before Chuck gets home? When it's just me and the three kids and the dog and the cat? Forget it. We've had more "breakfast" dinners than I care to admit. But at least people are eating.
I keep calling the baby, whom we named Cameron, Evron (Cameron + Everett,
our middle son's name). There's enough laundry in the basket to topple a
small building. I'm afraid that if I sit down in the shower I'll never get up.
There just aren't words.
But, remarkably, I've never been happier. In the middle of the night, I can't get enough of Cameron. Even though it's 2:35 a.m. and I've been up for an hour and I know he'll be awake again at 4:15, I know it won't be like this forever. (Right, right??) He's our last baby. I know that with 100% certainty—this really is it. So there's a bittersweet sweetness to it all.
Know what else is sweet? Having a drink at my own fricken bar. Hell ya.
I wish I could write more. I miss everything this blog used to be but the sun is out and the snow is melting and it's time to get back out into the world.
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