News flash: I love my kids

It's hard. I want to talk to regular people. I want to tell you what's going on in my life. But all I can come up with to say is how much I love Lilly, and how adorable Owen is, and how great Sam is. And you know who cares about that? Nobody. Except maybe Chris, Owen and Sam. Lilly doesn't care yet. So far she only cares about eating. Also seems to have a vendetta against clean sheets. Seems to be making it her personal mission to find clean things to pee and poop on. She's very successful. If that was a career, I'd be totally stoked about her future. She'd be, like, a guru that would hold training seminars. "People, if you only learn one thing today, it needs to be this: DO NOT be fooled by the towel placed between you and the clean sheet. Soiling this is just playing their game. Wait until the Big Lady of Milk forgets to put the towel down - and trust me, she will forget. Then you have a clear shot."

Sam and Owen are settling down after the mini-rebellion they threw when we came home from the hospital. Surprisingly, I think they were less upset about Lilly than they were that we had LEFT THEM for FOUR DAYS to go to the hospital. But I think they are getting better. Hard to tell sometimes with Sam, because he is, after all, four years old.

FYI, I'm not sure what that has to do with anything. I just like to blame their bad behavior on their age. Owen laid down on the ground and threw a fit? Well, that's a two-year-old for you! Lilly barfed on her fourth outfit of the day? Well, what do you expect from a four-week-old?! Ha!

This morning, Sam wanted something from me, I don't even remember what, but my "no" was greeted with one of his rants that go something like this:

"Okay, I want this, and so I want it, and you better give it to me because if you don't give it to me, I'll have to hate you, so I'm going to hate you so you better give it to me so I don't have have to hate you. You got it?"

Someone should tell this kid he shouldn't be so quick to pull out the big, "I hate you" guns. Save something for your teenage years, buddy!

My life is jam-packed with stuff you don't care about

Someone asked yesterday what it was like going from two to three children. I guess I hadn't really thought about that before. The truth is that this has been much easier than the transition from one to two. Man that was rough. That was way harder even than going from zero to one. Adding Lilly to the mix hasn't seemed that much different. To me, at least. Chris might disagree.

Things are busy, but not with anything interesting. My biggest controversy these days is the epic battle between my desire to eat every pastry in the world now that I'm no longer pregnant, and my desire to fit into my stupid BRIDESMAID DRESS. Funny, a week after I gave birth, well, a fat woman has never felt so thin. I lost weight rapidly after I gave birth (that is such weird phrasing, don't you think? Like, here baby, have some birth. Anybody else want birth while I'm giving it out?) and I was quickly down to my pre-pregnancy weight. There are just two problems with that.

1. I was fat before I got pregnant.

2. A surprising amount of fat is hanging out of my belly, where abdominal muscles have vacated the premises.

Oh, well. At least it's not like I'm going to be in any pictures or anything.

Well. This is weird.

So. I'm not pregnant anymore. That's kind of weird.

I mean, I spent approximately 245 days where EVERY day was a challenge. I didn't get through this pregnancy day-by-day, I got through it hour-by-hour. And there are a LOT of hours in 245 days.

And, as uncomfortable as it was, you do something for that long and you kind of get used to it. I was accustomed to spending hours thinking about what clothes I had that could possibly contain my massive girth. I had grown used to having people stare at me whenever I went out in public. Seriously, on the Friday after my due date I was walking down the street and I literally almost caused a car accident because drivers were so distracted. And THEN, less than a block later, a woman came screaming OUT OF A STORE because she had seen me and had to know how many babies I was carrying.

You become very noticeable when you are vastly pregnant. I was used to being noticed. And the concerns of a vastly pregnant woman are all consuming: When is the baby coming? Will I make that meeting? Do I have any clean shirts that will cover my belly? No? How about dirty? Any shirts at all? Will my back pain permit me to stand and walk right now? Also, what's for eating around here?

And then BOOM. All of a sudden, not pregnant anymore. The things I devoted 95% of my energy to are no longer applicable. Labor and delivery are over. Definitely not going to make that work meeting. Lots of shirts fit me now (or, at least provide full coverage). People don't stare when I go out. Still, though, what's for eating around here?

It took me a lot of energy and hours, days, weeks, to make this baby, and a lot of energy but only one day to shove said baby into this world.

And boy, is it weird what that does to your body. After I had the baby and I stood up (not the first time where I stood up and passed out, but the second time where I stood up and managed to retain consciousness), my internal organs were all "WHOA! Wheee! I'm FREE!" And I'm out here all like, "NO! Not free, internal organs! Calm it down in there! Everybody settle down!" It was like the way the boys ping-pong around their room when it's bedtime. My organs didn't want to LAY DOWN WITH YOUR HEAD ON YOUR PILLOW!

The way my organs flopped around in celebration of their newly re-acquired space is a truly peculiar sensation.

It's been two weeks now. My blown veins are healing, my belly is shrinking down a bit, the carnage dealt to my down-there area is subsiding.

Basically, I'm becoming normal again. Rejoining the ranks of all you people who are not currently creating life in your bodies.

And it is AWESOME.

Say what now?

PEOPLE.

So I was sitting down on Monday night, April 26th, to do a post about:

The Stages of a Baby Who Won't Come

1. Denial - this can't be happening to me. Maybe she miscalculated her due date?

2. Anger - Am I/Are you EVER going to have this baby? This baby is deliberately torturing me/us!

3. Bargaining - If I take this walk, the baby will come.

4. Depression - Stupid baby. Never going to come. Be pregnant forever. Just going to die.

5. Acceptance - Okay. Fine. I'm/She's going to be pregnant forever.

And I was going to say that I thought that I, and most of my friends and family, had successfully reached stage five, where we accepted that the baby was never going to come. People had stopped clutching their phones. Work had started scheduling me for meetings. Nobody was surprised to see me anymore.

But then, it happened.

Instead of writing the post, I ate the dinner that I had been feeling too sick to eat at dinner time. Then, I spent the next 6 hours regretting that I was going to yarf tuna noodle casserole, because I really like tuna noodle casserole and there nothing like yarfing it to turn you off your favorite food.

Yeah, contractions, man. I don't know if anybody has mentioned this, but they hurt, like, a lot.

And then, eventually, the baby came.

And now I am the mother of three. Which sometimes seems like a serious accounting error.