Most days I'm pretty excited about having three kids. I know it's going to be crazy but that's ok.
However this morning I was having some serious doubts at my ability to handle three small humans. As usual, Andrew left for work and I began to feed the boys breakfast. Surprisingly, that was drama free this morning. Both boys ate well and then requested to be "down" so that they could play with their toys. Peter needed a diaper change so I spent a few good minutes chasing him around the house. How dare I interrupt his playing with a diaper change?! Oh the humanity! Anyway, Peter knows I'm a little slower and a little wider these days so he hides in the tiniest spots he can think of and then when I finally get him out, he curls up in a ball making it extremely difficult to pick him up. Fortunately I won the diaper battle...or so I thought.
I came into the kitchen with the delicious smell of my first cup of coffee. Except there was no cup. Just a giant massive puddle of coffee on the counter and on the floor. Tears. All. The. Tears. I have a Keurig one-cup thingy and this mommy FORGOT TO PUT THE COFFEE MUG IN PLACE. I haven't done that since James was a few weeks old! And even then I caught it like halfway! Not this time. So while I mopped up the coffee and my tears I tried to regroup. I cleaned everything up, laid out my cookbooks to dry, and made myself a new cup of coffee. At this point, I was starving so I quickly poured myself a bowl of cereal to shove into my mouth. Like most meals in motherhood, I was eating standing up and James took that as an invitation to cry at my feet until I gave him whatever I was eating (there is a REASON we call him Food Truck). So while I was fighting my 18 month old for the last bite of Lucky Charms, Peter walks into the kitchen....
Peter decides that the cookbooks are a perfect place to hide his toys. He also decides that there is an oven mitt in his way. He then further decides to move the oven mitt, which knocks over my water glass, and shatters everywhere. Great news because all three of us are barefoot and standing in the middle of the glass. Somehow I swoop them up and take them to their room. Peter's crying, I'm crying, and James is still wondering about that last bite of Lucky Charms.
I put on the closest pair of shoes, which happen to be a golden pair of ballet flats, and begin the clean up. I then start thinking about how ridiculous I much look. 34 weeks pregnant, I can barely keep the shirt over my belly, I'm wearing my Spongebob pajama shorts from high school, and golden ballet flats. Suddenly I started thinking about how I should totally do an "outfit post" with my current getup. Then I start doing a crazy person laugh and I'm pretty sure I'm losing it (that's also probably what I get for watching Gotham before bed).
Finally, all the glass is cleaned. I rescue the boys from their room, get them dressed, and put on their shoes "just in case". I went back to my little corner of the kitchen, finished my now super-cold cup of coffee, and thought to myself "how on earth am I going to do this?" What if all of this had happened with little Aria? How do you juggle three kids out of a glass circle of death? I only have two hands?!?" I could feel the crazy person laugh bubbling up again so I quickly suppressed it with a gulp of coffee.
Then I remembered. God is only going to give me as much as I can handle. I know sometimes that line is overused and I feel bad using it in reference to spilt coffee and a broken glass when there are actually much more serious situations out there. However, it is true. In motherhood (and parenting in general) there are all kinds of events that take place in which you question your capabilities as a functioning adult. You wonder how on earth you're supposed to pick yourself up and keep going. Suddenly the doubts creep in and your convinced that the children you are raising will grow up to be criminals, you start envisioning prison visits (again, seriously need to stop watching Gotham before bed) and it will be all your fault.
But then again, maybe you're raising a Batman... Maybe even though there are days where you are convinced that you just can't handle this parenting gig anymore (ahem today) and then you realize that you can. You suddenly realize you are doing your best. The good comes with the bad. You are allowed to cry and crazy-person laugh. Just take things one day at a time one moment at a time. I hope the rest of today is better but it might not be. That's ok. I just need to take it one step at a time and not think too far ahead. Thinking ahead and worrying about things before they even happen is such a waste of energy. Worrying about what I would have done this morning if I had three kids was pointless. I was using up energy that should have been plugged into the present moment.
The truth is that we aren't given anything that we can't handle. I know that someday when Peter and James are home from college we'll be sitting around the breakfast table, I'll tell this story, we'll laugh, I'll recall that Aria was not born yet and I'll probably mention that I felt like a whale. The disaster that was this morning will become one of those classic family stories that reminds me that that's just the way the cookie crumbles (or the glass shatters or the coffee spills) and I can handle it. It's hard but I can handle it.
And if you're having a morning like mine...so can you.