I Think My House Is Haunted . . .



. . . or maybe I simply have too many children.

I think three children is absolutely my limit and perhaps, I was a bit optimistic in how this would all work out.

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I never:

 

 

  • Ask for help
  • Admit defeat
  • Say no
  • Believe something is impossible

And that I am often known to:

  • Bend time
  • Find extra hours in a day
  • Knit a blanket while breastfeeding and participating in a conference call

At present, I cannot even find the phone. Or a blanket. Or a clock.

I am now sending up my white flag and telling everyone who is considering a third-baby-simply-because-Nicholas-is-so-cute-and-now-I-have-baby-fever-and-maybe-it-would-be-amazing-to-get-my-boy/girl-or-whatever to borrow my children for a week. I'll even throw in a few boxes of wine and a bag of lollipops.

The combination of a 7-year-old with 7-year-old things and a 7-month-old with one tooth and a bad latch (my nipple might actually fall off), plus the middle child who has a whole set of middle-child-Jan-Brady-type issues going on, has led me to go out in public wearing my Victoria Secret Pink shorts from 2001.

These shorts should not even be in my possession.

I simply cannot even think about what to wear or find a quiet moment to brush my hair and frankly, I am not able to consistently find an operational hairbrush for humans or even one suitable for a My Little Pony.

I think my house is haunted. And the poltergeist has a hairbrush fetish.

Or maybe, I simply I have too many children.

Whatever the problem, I need help. Or more time. Or therapy. Or more lollipops. Or Ghostbusters. Three children is hard – it is harder than one, it is harder than two and it is quite possibly the hardest thing I have ever attempted to do in my life.

Those people who climb tall mountains, those scientists who found the God particle and those hostage negotiators have an easy ride. I bet none of them have been pooped on this week.

And I bet they've brushed their hair.

The only thing that makes all of this worthwhile is this:

And this:

And this:

And especially, this:

Because so what if I look like a homeless woman when I have a home made by these three little loves and maybe, just maybe, one little ghost who loves hairbrushes?

 Trish Adkins is a South Jersey mom. This post is adapted from blog, Yoke.

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