The Crowded Three

In a couple of months I will have been a mother for five years.  In a couple of months + 1 day,  a mother of two for two years.  In a couple of months + 2 days a mother of three for two years.  I like being a mother of three.  I like that I no longer have to feel guilty about not picking up hitchhikers ... the three seats in the back are taken.

I like that I mostly go and do the supermarket shopping alone because I am yet to find that elusive trolley that has room for two toddlers up front.  I know they exist.  So do the yeti and the tasmanian tiger. I like supermarket shopping.  Soooo rock and roll.  I know.

But what I find grinds me down about this mother of three under 5 caper is the constant and repetitious malarky of trying to encourage the less small one to be in the same room as the other two smaller ones without Oscar winning, highly dramatic meltdowns.  I know it's a phase.  I know it's a personality thing.  I know it will pass.  I know that as they get bigger they will be less inclined to annoy the hell out of her. But, it's been two years.  I'm over it. I'm running out of patient voice.  I'm low on understanding.  I'm silent screaming in my bathroom.  I'm perusing the chocolate aisle with greater regularity.  I'm making whatever signs behind backs.  I'm so freaking mature.

So as a reminder to myself, I present two very recent moments, captured, recorded and aahed over - where my smalls coexisted and had a good time.  Just in case.