A friend of mine, pregnant with her third, asked me what it’s like with three. “Well,” I said, “There’s always one crying, one asking you for something and one who has disappeared.”
This seems to pretty much hold true in my house all of the time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad. The one asking for something is usually in good spirits but needing attention. The one who has disappeared is usually quite happy to be secretly scarfing down a cookie, rummaging around in my makeup drawer or climbing onto the desk to reach the oh-so-tempting whatever-it-is (Scissors! Glue! An expensive antique teapot!) on the shelf. The one who’s crying, well, that one speaks for itself.
At the moment, we’re down to two: Ella, my oldest, has been away at camp for a full week now and it’s like a vacation (more like a stay-cation) having just Ruby and Lilah around. The energy in our house is notably less intense. I don’t think it’s Ella specifically, although she does have a tremendous amount of energy, which we prefer to call spunk. I think it’s having just two kids around instead of three. With three, Josh and I are outnumbered. With two, we easily play one-on-one defense, a strategy we’d had years to perfect before Lilah came along somewhat late in the game.
That said, I miss my Ella and I miss seeing all three of my girls together even if sometimes they’re pulling each other’s hair, pushing each other’s buttons and getting each other into trouble. It’s hard juggling all of them, especially a tween yearning for puberty, a fiery 8-year-old with a new set of head gear and a toddler who is ridiculously cute and knows how to work it. All I can say is, what a blessing.