A Whole Lotta Vagina in the House

"There's a whole lotta vagina in this house".  Moira aged 5

This is the truth when living in a home with three daughters under the age of six.

Mo made this comment not soon after I had Margo one night at the dinner table. My husband is outnumbered in a house full of XX chromosomes, and if pressed, he admits he would not want it any other way. 

To some the idea of three daughters sounds like a nightmare, while others believe it heaven on earth. For us, it's us. Our complete family, the family I had always dreamed.

Generally those close to me have refrained from comments on our female heavy family. It is however the rest of the public who have yet to catch on.  

While pregnant with Margo, I found myself answering numerous questions from complete strangers regarding our desire to add to our family. Pair this with the various unsolicited comments that made their way to me, and one might might believe a notion that for our family to be complete, we needed a boy.

Imagine the disbelief when I had the audacity to outright admit I hoped for another girl?

I still answer questions now, as the mother of three daughters that make my brain question some members of humanity.

These are a few nuggets that came my way:

"Oh. Are they all girls and are they all yours?"

Yes and yes.

"I'm sorry."

Wait, are you talking to me? Why would you apologize?

"You must have your hands full, you know, with three little girls?"

No actually right now they're empty, as the two younger ones are secured in the new car carts and the older one is actually of an age where I can trust her to walk around the grocery store. Oh you mean, hypothetically, my hands are full because I have a house of girls.
Yes. My hands are full. Not because they're girls, but more so because there are three children under the age of six who demand my complete and utter attention 99.9% of the time day in and day out.

That usually is enough to stop the comments. But there are others that stick out as quite memorable.

"Don't you want to give your husband a son?"

Nope.
And frankly this statement demonstrates that the speaker obviously missed the biology lecture in which we learn that it is the male of our species that determine sex. He had his chance, via HIS sperm for a boy. Talk to those failed swimmers that were Team Bry.

"Don't you feel like you're missing out?"

Really? I am at a complete loss with this one. I think the only thing we're missing is another penis in our house. 

"No. I mean, don't you feel like since you don't have a son you miss out on stuff."

Again. no.
Thanks to Title IX and the Equal Rights Amendment, my daughters have the option of pursuing their athletic dreams, and academic pursuits. 

"Girls can't(insert activity here)".

I have two things as of today they cannot do because they are girls. One is become a Catholic Priest, and the other is pee standing up.  Thanks to some childhood friends who invented the Go Pilot, the peeing standing up has a chance of becoming a reality, and in my honest opinion, based on the current state of the Catholic Church, perhaps there may the open door policy for women by the time my girls are of age.

"But who will toss a ball around with Bry?"

Have you met my daughter Moira, or as I have recently discovered was nicknamed the "Mo-chine" by a parent of a soccer teammate? He has nothing to worry about there.

"Who will carry on the last name?"

One of them. All of them. None of them. It's up to them. There is no guarantee that just because we have a son he will reproduce, or just because we have daughters they will take the surname of their spouse.

"Oh, you'll have to pay for three weddings".

Again, not necessarily. Let's get them through high school and college, have them find a good job, and a suitable life partner before we worry about who will cover the expenses for these fictional weddings.

"Girls are tough. They're emotional all the time, and they never shut up."

Have you met my brother?
(Sorry Joey.)

Ultimately, our family is perfect for us just the way it is, four females and one male.

As my husband likes to point, as the only male in a house full of women does have some benefits. We agreed early on after Moira was born, that I would give our daughters the sex ed talk, while Bryan would take on any sons.

Point for Bry here.

Also, we agreed that in general, out and about, I would be the one to take our daughters into the restroom, as the men's rooms are usually less clean.

Again, score another point for Bry.

In the end, I think all parents, or at least most of us hold fast to the notion "we get what we get and we don't get upset". In our case, this is getting to parent three fabulously fantastic little girls. I don't sit around dwelling on the fact we don't have a son, because in the scope of things that matter, it's the furthest thing on my list. And also, if I do have the time to actually sit, it's spent eating, or catching up on the DVR or composing some piece like this.

I don't claim to understand all daughters and frankly I doubt we may fail to understand most girls.  But we do 'get' our girls. Diversity at it's best thrives in our home I do say. As even though they share the same DNA, they are as different as can be.

Our home is filled with love, lots of energy, and as Mo said, a whole lotta vagina.

Rewind, Pause, Save.

It's a rainy Sunday morning in New Jersey.

Sofia is speaking to a mermaid, Maeve sits mesmorized, while Mo's fingers slide photos on the new family Ipad of the year that has passed.

This year, the year 2013, the year our family became a fearless fivesome has made some fabulous memories. This moment right now gives me a much needed minute to stop, to look back, and to see what the hell we did this year, because I must confess, frankly it's been a blur.

So, I'll steer clear of my usual flow and overly wordy prose, and instead let the pictures tell the story.

A Year In Photos 2013

 What a fun filled year!

One

It had been told to me when I had Margo, that time would seem to go faster.  I was warned that the year of babyhood would speed by, quicker it would seem than the first years of her sisters.

I laughed, as I held that new fresh bundle for the first time that December morning.

The sleepless nights to come, the what seemed like endless nursing sessions, and the spit up, oh the spit up! How could this possibly go too fast, I wondered, in the middle of the night?

But alas, before I had time to savor it, we were somehow back to December, planning a first birthday party. 

We had survived, all be it with a lot less sleep, this first year.

Somehow, someway, she grew and she grew and she grew and alas, she became this perfect little person. 

This perfect little person that I get to mama.  

Happy Birthday to our Stinkerella, our Margo Baby!

Look Ma, No Hands

At eight and a half month, dear Margo seems to have lost any sense of fear, and hesitation as she began letting go and standing.

No Hands!

Not quite twenty four hours after this photo was taken, she took three steps unassisted between Bryan and I. 

I don't know if I'm ready for a walker, especially one so tiny?

At least she's cute!

And God created Yoga Pants.

"Your kids are always so nicely dressed and put together."

My cousin recently mentioned this to me at a birthday party.

It is true.

I am a bit of a crazy person with the older girls and their hair.

If they want it long, then it has to be up. From an early age, I would put their hair up, no excuses.

Thus, terms like "soccer hair"- two french braids, "softball hair"- half -up braid and then another braid to ensure the batting helmet can stay on, and "swimming braids" - two braids to keep goggles in place, have become part of our lexicon.

They don't expect to be permitted to leave the house with their hair down or in a headband alone.

Call me crazy, but the last thing I want is having to negotiate knots and tangles at the end of the day. I have been known to change out pigtails for braids mid-way through an event, like a baptism or party.

Clothing is another debate. Moira would prefer t-shirts and comfy shorts every day, while Maeve rotates from a steady supply of summer dresses. If I need Mo in a dress, it's a production. Conversely if we're going somewhere that necessities Maeve in shorts, it's a production. 

Two girls, same parents, same house, similar DNA, yet so very different. 

Thank God Margo still lets me put her in whatever I desire. 

It's not them, however that I'm choosing to write about today. 

It's me. 

I have a confession.

Margo is a week away from eight months, and in this period of time, I can count on two hands the times I have worn bottoms that do not have elastic waistbands. I shy away from jeans, shorts, capris, instead wearing yoga pants, yoga capris, and elastic waisted skirts. 

The same skirts I wore last year with my pregnant bump. 

I am in a style rut.

I look disheveled.

I'm not proud, and honestly, I'm kind of depressed about it.

My belly is disgustingly stretched out, and my clothes all fit strangely. Add horrible nursing bras to the mix, and I'm one sad looking individual.

I feel like prior to getting pregnant, I was slowly getting back to some resemblance of me. Grant it, I wasn't one hundred percent happy with the way I looked, but I had started to develop some style.

And then I got pregnant.

Maternity dressing wasn't so bad either. I did my best to accessorize, add color, and change it up.

But now, here I am wearing the same uniform almost daily: black yoga capris & a t-shirt or a pull on skirt with a v-neck t.

How Exciting?!?

I hate feeling like this, but I don't even know where to start. I've tried shopping online, but I know that I need to physically try things on. I really wish in the explanation of items they would say, "This piece is great in hiding that mama pouch!" or "Perfect for those breastfeeding enormous boobs!" Until that happens, my purchases online for clothing will be reserved for the girls.

As for shopping in person, that's another obstacle. I'm rarely in a position where I can try things on alone. Usually, all three kids are in tow, thus leaving little room for me to twist and twirl in front of the mirrors.

Yesterday, on a trip to Target, I brought a few things into the dressing room. Under the watchful eye of my budding fashionistas, I collected various skirts, a few shirts, and two pairs of jeans to try on. Not five minutes in, Margo started crying, Maeve kept going on and on about the toy aisles, while Mo asked when we would be finished. This is exactly the type of environment that leads to ridiculous purchases: like an orange, pink, and white skirt that for some reason had side cut outs like running shorts.

I ended up buying that skirt and a pair of jeans, after getting votes of approval from Moira and Maeve.

Yes, my five and three year old were my votes of validation.

I should have known better, because they were off. Trying the skirt on at home, without the pressures of the changing room, I realized how ill fitting it truly was. Bryan's confirmation of my suspicions led to another field trip to a different Target today to return the skirt.

I've tried scouring my closet, but I'm just too damn tired and lazy. Some of my previously favorite pieces aren't fitting the way they once did. I've looked to the web, and pinterest for inspiration, but I'm at a loss. I wish I could figure out how to do it, without breaking the bank and my self esteem.

I just want to look pretty again, and I don't want to put any time or energy into getting that way.

Is that a lot to ask for?

So, for now, when you see me in real life, wearing the same yoga pants and t-shirt for the one hundredth time, be kind.
I'm working on it.

Family Ties

The sound of waves crashing on the beach find their way intermingled among the giggles and shouts of  "Watch Grammy". Back and forth they swim. Grammy in the deeper water, while Grammy with the Bracelets stands closer to shore.

"Watch me put my face in!" Maeve instructs.

Both grandmothers stare intently as she bobs her face into the cool water.

Immediately lifting her face, she waits for their responses and they do not disappoint, as a chorus of praise finds it way to Maeve.

Not wanting to be overshadowed by her little sister, Mo chimes in, "Gram, Grammy Bracelets watch me!".

Their focus turns to her, as Mo perfects her streamline, kicking her feet as fast as she can from one grandmother to the other.

They repeat the scene over and over, as Moira and Maeve spend an afternoon in the Atlantic with their two grandmothers.

I shift in the chair. Margo sleeping in my arms, as my feet find the towel. I watch in amazement, as four of my favorite ladies spend time together. I watch the generations ahead of me, and I smile.

My girls are lucky.

I have heard horror stories of in-laws, where tension exists and family events can be uncomfortable. Where grandparents feel the need to compete for the affections of their grandchildren. Or, worse, situations where grandparents ignore their grandchildren all together.

This is not the case with our family.

Strange as it may sound, we all get along.

Just last summer, my mom would join Moira, Maeve, and I for weekly pilgrimages to my mother in law's house. Together we would spend the majority of the day at the beach. Heading back to her house for a late lunch, we would sit and talk together before returning home.

Unlike the formality that many in laws seem to possess, they have developed a friendship and honestly enjoy each other's company.

And as grandmothers they are very similar. Together with my father, the three are the grandparents I would wish for every child, including myself.

They dote, spoil, and absolutely adore my children. They go out of their way to ensure the children's happiness.

Grammy Bracelets fills her candy dish with the girls favorites before every trip. Sharing sideways glances with Mo & Maeve as they sneak another gummy fish between giggles, the mutual adoration is evident.

My mom has perfected her Wicked Witch cackle, as she chases the girls around the dining room table. The chorus of "Chase me some more Grammy" echoes through the air intertwined with screams of delight.

While Popsie cannot enter the front door without requests for soccer, softball, football, walks, and promises of vanilla and chocolate ice cream in the event Mr. Frosty makes his way around. He knows the there is no rest time when he visits.

Bryan and I have often talked about our parents growing up. Obviously they did a great job, as we consider ourselves pretty great successes in life, contributing members of society and all that. However, in this role as grandparents, they have far exceeded themselves. They are my girls favorite people and they love spending time with them. They've got this grandparent thing figured out.

My kids are pretty lucky, and I realize so am I.

Zip it

Once upon a time, a very nice lady brought her three little girls to the local grocery store.

Aisle, by aisle, she was able to push her cart, fill it with groceries, and keep her children happy. All this was done without any stray comments from other shoppers.

She piled her lot into the car and made it home.

And they lived happily ever after, the end.





What a cute little fictional story, right? 

While I have been able to take my brood to the store and successfully manage to procure our weekly shopping without loss of limb, life, or sanity on a few occasions, the fiction in this story  is that rarely our presence will go unnoticed.

Apparently, my presence with three children in public gives permission for unwarranted comments, advice, nods, head shakes, and in one instance a suggestion to hire a babysitter, as the grocery store is no place for us. 

For the record, in the event I hire a babysitter, there is no way in hell I'm using that time to grocery shop. 

I thought being pregnant brought out the crazies, but it's nothing compared to the reactions I get when I'm out alone with three children. People I have never met before feel it is acceptable to comment and say things like:

Are they all yours? God Bless you!

You must have a lot of patience!

Are you going for the boy?

Ah, I'm sorry. Three girls? 

Wow! Aren't you brave to be here alone?

Don't you have any help?

I don't really get it?

Do I look that bad?
hurried?
tired?
pissed off?

If I do now, it's because of these incessant comments. 

From my Facebook feed and in conversation with those who have three or more children, I realize I'm not alone, and we're in agreement. We do not want to hear it anymore. 

I like that I have three girls. I don't feel like I need nor do I want a little boy.  What I believe is even more surprising is after having two daughters, my husband actually preferred another girl to a boy.

Since I don't want to sequester my children in our home twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, I take them out to places ... alone!

If I'm hiring a babysitter, it's going to be for something good like a pedicure or night out, not to do necessary errands.

Yup, me and three kids hit up places like Target, the library, the local swimming pool, and even weekly trips to the grocery store, without another adult, and we survive.

My life is crazy, don't get me wrong.

I raise my voice a little too much. My house is a little messier than I'd like, and my sheets don't get changed nearly as much as they should. Things are usually loud, frenzied, and crazy. My life as a mother of three little girls five and under can be overwhelming. I dream of sleeping through the night, taking a lazy shower, and peeing with the door shut. I haven't been to the gym in two years, and I just had my first date night out without kids in close to a year this past Friday.

With all this being true, I don't need nor want to hear it anymore. Random ladies and men, keep your mouth shut and opinions to yourself.

Unless of course, you're telling me how my children are well behaved, because then, please, by all means, throw me the compliments. 

I do hope someday I can make through the grocery store without a comment, but until then a mama can dream?

Rinse, Repeat

I have hit a wall my friends.

I thought I had this three kids thing down.

All  are fed, clothed, and kept clean to a degree.

We have managed to keep our house in one piece. No visits to the emergency room...yet. We've made it to school, library story hour, play dates, grocery shopping trips, and even a few meals out.

I assume from the outside I look like I have it together. I'm trying to be brave. I'm trying to appear normal, but I'm not yet. Every night, as bedtime looms, my anxiety increases. Sleep is nothing but a joke right now. I've tried to keep it together as much as I can, but I lost it last night. Grabbing Bry and holding him tight I started to bawl.

I am at a loss.
I don't know how to fix it.

Margo is a shitty sleeper, and by default, I have become one too.

For my friends reading who have known me for any extended period of time know that I need sleep. Like, consistent, 8 hours plus a night. We're working on five and a half months of sporadic at best stretches of sleep for me.

I'm baked. I fried. I toasted. I'm melting. I'm completely and utterly done.

I remember vividly Moira sleeping well. I thought waking up once a night at three and half months old was bad.

Boy, did I have it wrong.

I will confess here, much of Maeve's first year is a blur. I assume it was a survival mechanism as I did have two kids under two for much of each day by myself. I don't remember yearning for sleep as much as I do now.

This whole third kid is another story. Thank God she's cute and has a good disposition.

Confession here, this morning after nursing Margo and setting up Mo with her usual cereal bar and milk, I spent an hour scouring the web for sleep solutions. I seriously contemplated typing:
Tell me, oh wise and powerful Internet, how can I get my kid to sleep for longer than three hours because I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown? in the google search window, but instead settled on sleep training + 6 month old.

Alas, from this little bit of research I realized it's time for this mama to suck it up. Cry it out commences today, or for you PC peeps- I'm using the extinction model of sleep training.

It's currently 3:19 pm. I set Margo up in the crib, awake at 2:00. She screamed for 13 minutes. I prepped Mo and Maeve for the worst.
Margo's got to learn how to go to sleep in her crib. I shared. I refrained from adding so mama doesn't go cray-cray. to the end of that sentence.
She's still asleep.

I won't peek.

Tonight, I'm going to try this extinction method again. (It does sound so much nicer than crying it out, right?)

God help me that it works, and she sleeps for more than three hours.

Hopefully this little hurdle can be jumped tonight or tomorrow, and my bed can become my refuge again.

Checking Out, Checking In

Reaching down, I grab the gallon of milk from under the carriage. My eyes glance and meet hers.

Crap, she's awake. 

It is inevitable, that Margo would sleep the entire grocery shopping trip only to wake upon entering the checkout line.

Silently, the prayer enters my brain.

Please God, let her go back to sleep, or just be quiet while I check out.

Exhaling, my hand grabs the other plastic jug. I shimmy around the cart, and place them both on the belt. As I continue unpacking, the noises begin. At fir'. st, just grunts, but then the gasps and gulps that indicate pending unease.

Quicker, quicker, quicker, I unpack.

"Can I have candy, mama?' Maeve asks, hanging precariously on the edge of the cart.

"yeah, me too! Me too!' Mo adds, jumping up and down.

I wipe the sweat from my brow between loading the bag of apples and granola bars. Reminding the girls of the lollipops they had just enjoyed, it's coming.

The cadence of her whimpers have changed. No longer quiet, the crescendo hits the air.

Margo is done.

I am not.

"Mommy, Margo's crying!" Mo eloquently points out.

Suffocating the desire to respond, "No shit!, I take a breath in and through gritted teeth say, "I know babe. Can you talk to Margo baby while Mommy finishes with the groceries?"

"Um, nope. I'm playing with Maeve."

Again, I take another breath, listening to the compassionate voices in the aisles surrounding me. Echoes of "Poor little thing" meet equal part "I don't miss that" and a few audible sighs.

"Shush" I start, "Shush Margo Baby. We're almost done."

Her cries continue, however food remains in the cart.

"Mommy, Margo's still crying" Maeve adds, rolling her eyes from behind the cart. "She not stopping!"

"I know baby, but I have to finish putting the food out and pay." I say. "Margo will be okay."

"Would you mind if I try putting the pacifier in her mouth?" she asks.

I didn't notice her, but at some point the woman had put her cart behind.

"You'd think people would steer clear of this aisle" I joke, "you know with the crying baby and crazy looking mom."

She shares a smile, "Oh no, " she says, "I just love babies and it looks like you need a hand."

As I continue emptying the cart, I hear the nonsense talk we often make towards babies.

"You're too cute! You need to stop crying." she says to my screaming baby.

Her cries subside for a moment.

My eyes meet the lady's.

"Thank you" I say as I place the last of my groceries on the cart.

"Ah you're welcome" she starts, "I just came from a funeral. I needed this. She is so cute and she just made my day better."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry". I say just as the cries begin again and Mo grabs my hand.

"Margo's crying again, Mama!" Mo says in her sing song voice.

I look to her, just as the cashier interrupts, "M'am I'm all done".

First Rule of Fight Club

First rule of sleeping through the night is the same.

You don't talk about the baby who may or may not have slept 10:30 - 4:45 last night.

I expect to be up all night tonight.

2 + 1 =/= 3

Interesting title, right?

Here I am, back to the blog. The place I confess and share, and rant and write. It's been a whirl, my friends.
Ask any first grader what's 2 plus 1, and he will respond 3.

Simple mathematics, but in terms of humans when you have two children, and one more is added, it sure does not seem like three!

There's exponentially more of everything: more noise, more needs, more laundry, and the need for more hands. It is such a monumental change, the addition of this small little being that the norm is gone.

When I had Moira and Maeve, I remember feeling completely and utterly overwhelmed. As I look back, those first few months after their arrivals I frankly was a mess, emotionally fragile and exhausted.

However this time, I am good.

Really, honestly, truly I am.

We're out. We're about. We're doing as much as one can do during the winter in the northeast.

In sharing my feelings this time around with a few people, I was reminded it may be because now, I don't have the time for exhaustion and emotion.

I am the mom to three girls four years and under, I just do not have the time to cry and think about it.

Perhaps, they're right?

Now as for the girls, that's a bit different. Not only has my norm been altered, but so has theirs.

Don't let the pigtails fool you, this one's been trouble!

Attitude much?

If one asks the three year old, the addition of a new sister is good...most of the time.

Her place has been usurped. The baby no more, she's not quite sure of this new title- "Big Sister". It could be the joys of being three, or the reaction to having a new baby in the house, or the combination of the two, but any way I look at it, Maeve has developed an attitude. There's been doors slammed, feet stomped in protest, and declarations that "I no love you mommy! You not my best friend!" The blatant refusal to do what I ask is what gets under my skin the most.

Yes, my friends, three has taken over my sweet Maeve overnight. She's not the baby anymore and she's not too happy about it.

I asked the pediatrician at her three year appointment how long I should expect this behavior in relationship to Margo, and her response frankly scared me. Between forced smile she uttered, "Well, we just don't know. It can take some time, months or so!"

MONTHS! MONTHS I have to deal with this?!?!

But then I see a sliver of my sweet girl, and I realize she's still there, just trying to make sense of this new normal.

I'm hoping there's more of this!

Moira, however, has basically remained her same easygoing self. While she loves Margo, having a new little sister in the family really hasn't changed things for her too much. She's still top dog and loving it.

This post has taken me some time to finish as my hands have been busy. (I am currently typing with one hand while holding a sleeping babe). 

I apologize for the absence.  I miss this. I miss having this refuge. I miss my blogging buds, but for the moment my hands are occupied with something, err someone else.

Priorities, my friends, priorities.