The Complete Chaos of Three

My head hasn't stopped spinning since I went into labor. That was four months ago. Something about the number three, at least for me, has fundamentally changed the experience of being a parent. I may have thought I was in it before, but I am giving all of myself to this thing right now. I am fully immersed in the trenches of fulfilling basic needs, absolutely consumed. The days are a whir, and I feel like I never have enough arms, sense, or time. There's a constant thrum of chaos, the cacophony of boys playing, baby squealing, toys sliding across the wooden floor, water boiling over on the stove, laundry spinning with an emptied pocketful of acorns pelting against the metal, binging texts that I will never find time to answer. I found a dirty diaper in my coat pocket yesterday. I grocery shop at 9pm.

It may sound like I'm complaining, but I am not. I have never felt so full, so deliriously present. When I collapse into bed every night, I am happy. The chaos is loud and soul-stirring. My house is a mess, and I don't care. I will live another life someday--maybe 10, 15 years from now--and my house will be clean and quiet, with no piercing pain-inducing legos underfoot or crayon graffiti across the bathroom wall. I will take a shower every day and brush my hair and look like a presentable human. Right now, I embrace the mess, the chaos, the overwhelming sense that shit is going to hit the fan any second.

That's not to say I expected any of this. I thought it would be easier, I really did. But I am not complaining, I swear. I look at my little girl, my unexpected number three, and my heart melts and bursts and sings a thousand songs. I love her! I knew the boys would adore her, there was never any doubt, but I didn't know how amazing it would be to watch them watch her come into this world and grow and smile and giggle uncontrollably when they tickle her squishy little legs. They beg to hold her. Ollie's first order of business every morning is Iris -- where is she, can he kiss her? Cass parades her around the house, so proud of his ability to transport her in his seven-year-old arms. I peek around the corner and find Ollie snuggled up beside her under her dangly playmat thing, whispering in her ear and rubbing his cheek against hers. They bring her toys, sing her songs, smell her toes, and break my heart with their sweetness.

I know these hard, crazy days will pass, one by one, stacked up like old photo albums that no one looks at anymore, and my life will be my own again. I will be free to pursue other interests, other ambitions. But I'm here right now. I'm in no hurry to leave.