I promise I will stop being all back-patty about doing simple things like going to the post office with three kids and getting places on time with three kids and surviving life with three kids really very soon. Like tomorrow.
Actually, probably not tomorrow. I’ll probably keep doing it until Max is 5 or so. I just need the cheerleading right now, is the thing. I was talking to a friend about how you always have this woo look at me go feeling when you successfully execute a typically straightforward task with a new kid in tow but really, whether you’ve got one kid or seven, having a baby is the hard thing. They’re just kind of unpredictable, especially in those early early weeks. Like, say, week four of life.
Max is a champ sleeper. Rock solid. High fives all around, little dude. However, the hours of 6 p.m. to 11 p.m. are pretty hairy, and we’re starting to feel the burn after four nights of it. And when you’re dealing with that kind of fussiness during the evening, whenever you hear it the rest of the day, your hackles are raised immediately, like oh shit, it’s happening again and I haven’t carbo-loaded yet.
However, yesterday we went to a museum, Larry, Curly, Moe and I. It was very nice, and quite successful.
Rosie particularly loved it, as it was her first time, and also she is the age now (and the personality forever, I hope) where everything is FUN! and met with big eyes, wonder and full-body shudders of excitement.
Noah, who had been before, manned the map, and expertly directed us to the “most awesome stuff,” the bathrooms, the play area, the bathrooms and also the nursing area. And the bathrooms.
And we did the museum. Like regular folk. Like people.
And then we came home and L and I passed off the baby for four hours before falling face first into the giant pile of laundry on the couch. But! Museum! My three kids and I went to a museum.
It was a good day.