When I got pregnant with our third child, our family dynamic was really…. easy. Everyone had their specific place in our little nuclear family. Roles were clear, defined. It was simple to see who was what. We had the big boy and the little boy. We shit rainbows and sunshine and everyone whistled while they worked.

It’s really easy to glorify the past.

Sometime around the 8th month of my pregnancy, my 3 year old became “that freaking 3 year old” and I couldn’t attribute this change in behavior to anything other then his “Three-nees”.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, 3 is the new 2. It makes sense when a 2 year old is a douche-bag. Some have limited verbal skills but desperately need to be heard. At 3, they are repeating all the stupid shit you say under your breath… “Yeah, Mommy, you’re an asshole” when you realize you left wet laundry in the washer for 2 days…. For the next 2 days after that all you hear is a little mouth saying, “Mommy is an asshole.”
Game, set, match, little man.

Now that the new baby is here, the 3 year old has two strikes against him…
A. He’s 3
B. He’s the dreaded {Dom, Dom, Dom} MIDDLE CHILD

I didn’t even realize the stigma attached to the whole “middle child” thing until tonight… bad mommy. I should have picked up on it before now.

Biggest kid went to sleep over a friend’s house and Hubby and I threw caution to the wind, said “fuck it” and decided to brave the great unknown by going out to dinner. This is a pretty big deal for us, because I really do like to cook and their are just too many variables with all these kids that can screw up a meal out. But tonight we did it….

And it was fucking awesome.

Because, in taking our oldest son out of the equation, 3 year old happily took the slot of top dog. He was well behaved, ate his dinner without question, helped with the baby…. did all the things (I assume) he’d been yearning to do.

So now I’m wondering, how can I make my second child, my #2, feel like my first child, my #1, all the time? I mean, obviously, I don’t have a time machine… he’s never going to actually be my first born. And he totally knows that. He loves his big brother and completely uses his big brothers actions as a guide. But I need to erase the middle child stigma from my mind, my world, my house… The whole shebang.

The 3 year old is very important member of our new family dynamic. He’s the glue. He’s the guy that holds all the brothers together in a very important way. He’s the funny, irreverent brother. He’s the one that asks the ridiculous questions…. “Mommy, why are your nipples so much bigger then mine?” He asked that over breakfast by the way. And he’s the one who tells us when we have something caught in our teeth. And tells us when he farts…. even when it doesn’t make a noise. He’s also the one who perfectly holds a pencil, and can play with Lego’s (without directions), and can paint (with real paints and brushes) for hours and never make a mess.

Starting tomorrow I’m going to bite the bullet and give him some assignments. Chores and helpful stuff that he will love, stuff that will make him feel important, and stuff that will help me out. This is a huge leap of faith for me, because I really love control. But if it works… (fingers crossed) I’ll be giving him some massive identity beyond being the monkey in the middle.

Stay tuned, I’ll keep you posted.

*Note to self, buy wipe boards


When I picked the 3 year old up from school yesterday his teacher had an interesting story for me. I guess my middle monkey was playing with a stuffed animal and he kept throwing it on the ground. When his teacher asked him why, he said it was time for the bear to “go to sleep”. So his teacher questioned further (while sorta giggling because she knows us very well) “Do Mommy and Daddy throw you in your bed when it’s time to go to sleep?” and my sweet little boy said, “Yes”.

I actually found this story a bit comical because
A. I don’t hit my kids and
B. He wasn’t really lying.

This past week the 3 year old was refusing to finish his dinner but still insisted on desert. That’s not how things work up in this bitch. You eat… you get a treat. Simple right? But Mr. 3 wants to do things his way, which (although very age appropriate) is a total fucking pain in the ass. So on Thursday and Friday nights he went to bed with no desert, and a temper tantrum, which was finally resolved without books or cuddles but getting a time out, in his crib. Now, I wouldn’t say we “threw” him in his bead… but when a strong 3 year old won’t listen and is trying to kick you, he isn’t laid down gently either.

The moral of this story is always give your kids whatever the fuck they want so you don’t have to explain yourself to DCF.

No, no, that can’t be right. The real moral of this story is that sometimes being a parent means you have to be a dick. They aren’t always going to like you, but they need to trust what you say to be true. If you say one thing and then do another all you get is a kid who’s going to know they’ve got your number. And in this case my little buddy seems to think that if he annoys the living shit out of us he’s going to get his way. I think he might, just might, be finally getting the message that we aren’t going to give in on certain core things. Like eating, we aren’t going to budge on this one. And hopefully we don’t have to repeat the soap opera from the other night. But if we do, so be it.
I might have to get the preschool some new stuffed animals.


I’m a nervous talker.

I used to think I just enjoyed hearing myself speak but as I get older I realize I just talk and talk to stay away from those moments of awkward silence.You know those moments… all of those “Sooooo……” and “Anyways………”.

Lots of time I say shit before I even get a second to think about what I’m about to say. The problem with having no-filter is that you often say things that aren’t PC… more like NC-17, so it might not be “the right thing” to say but it usually ends up being my honest opinion. That’s why I was so disturbed by the comment of a stranger in the grocery store today. Because, like me, she seemed to be a nervous talker. So the comment that she made was her honest opinion. But I think her way of looking at things really sucks. Because it means that Motherhood is a dead-end road, and I just can’t live my life feeling like that.

I guess I was smiling. I was walking down  the pasta aisle with a shit eating grin on my face. Right then, a stranger, an older woman, took one look at my infant son and I and said,
“You look way too happy to have a new baby!”
I do?
As a mother, am I doomed to be miserable for the rest of my life? Is that what Mothers are supposed to look like? A miserable, angry bitch with no love? Since when is a new baby no longer a source of joy and excitement but rather a burden?
Well, Fuck. That. 

I AM, having a particularly good day today. The 3-year-old had been sick this week and today he is much better and back at school. My 8-year-old is done with the FCAT and excited about his soccer tournament this weekend. The baby, after a couple tough weeks of being sick and getting used to just, being alive… seems really comfy and happy. Tonight my husband and I have plans to go to an adult only event and my parents are watching the kids! So yes, today I am smiling like a prom queen. I’m whistling Dixie out of my ass,  and yes, I have a new baby and I’m happy. And I’m really pissed off for women everywhere that this isn’t considered “the norm”.

Now, let’s just be clear… I’ve had many a moment since the birth of my first child (9 years ago) that make me question the whole point of parenthood. But I’ve had many other jobs that I was paid to do before becoming a Mom that I questioned the purpose of my place in the Universe too. And tomorrow might be a shitty day. I’ll find myself standing in the living room, holding a colicky baby, surrounded by dirty laundry, peanut butter and gum stuck in my hair, while listening to my older sons fight over who gets to lay on the bigger couch for 2 hours…

That very well could happen, and it won’t be the first time, or the last time. But the fact that other women, especially older women, think that child rearing should be a miserable experience has to end.

And it has to end now. RIGHT NOW!!!

I wanted to grab this woman by the shoulders, shake her and yell, “I’m sorry your life sucks.”

But I hid the nervous talker in me behind my smile. And in spite of  my disdain I said,

“I guess I am.”