I have made it to the fabulous 4 month mark of having a new kiddo, Bacon Hoss. And in that time, I think perhaps I have written once, the wife is starting to get pissed. Not pissed like when she was pregnant and wanted a hamburger with cheese and she only got a hamburger. That was scary. By comparison, this type of anger is almost nice. She says that I need to write, that she needs entertainment. I say that the oven is on the fritz and I need to figure that out but only after I replace the garbage disposal under the sink.
Fun fact: taking care of 1 kid takes a lot of time. Taking care of 2 kids takes up just about the same amount of time. As they get older the two kids actually entertain each other or at the very least understand the difference between a Phillips screw driver and a flat head. This makes life easier. More things get done, life is happy. Wait a pop, I've got to change the baby.
3 kids, that tends to get a bit harder and I will admit, I'm still trying to find my footing. I'm still trying to adjust. It doesn't help that as the other two kids get older, sports seasons kick in. This week we are having sandwiches for dinner, every night. I am a gourmet with sandwiches.
But we adjust, the family thrives on challenge and adventure! We will continue, we will grow strong, right after I heat up some breast milk and feed the baby. And then take my daughter to swim team. Well, she will have to catch a ride there I think because we have tball tonight with my son. The baby's hungry again.
No, we will adjust! It just means that things have to be done a bit different now. We can only admire dad's massive biceps for 30 minutes a day instead of the full hour. That will free up some time.
Bedtime is hereby pushed back to 9:30 under the excuse of awarding everyone for good behavior over the year while the truth is that I just can't get them ready by 8 anymore with sports. Only two kids are allowed on my back at one time while I fix whatever fucking appliance has decided shit out on me. Three would be ok but Bacon Hoss is still learning the ropes so let's error on the side of caution, we'll just set him aside and let him play with some exposed wires.
I myself will no longer get to bed before 11:00 pm every night. That kitchen isn't going to clean itself people. If I'm lucky, I'll get to watch 20 minutes of TV by myself before falling asleep. No worries, I've spent the last 4 months of my life going without sleep and have trained myself to Navy Seal levels. Sleep is for the weak. Hold on, baby needs to eat again.
I will continue to coach Tball and soccer. I will strap Bacon Hoss to my chest during Tball and incorporate a new drill. It's called "don't hit the baby you little bastards". A bunch of 5 year olds, luckily, have terrible aim when it comes to throwing a baseball. Eventually, a mother in the crowd of spectators will take the baby while I continue to coach. Do I know her? Sometimes. But we are adjusting and sometimes that means we need to change our attitudes. Right now stranger doesn't equal danger, stranger equals babysitting for 45 minutes while I explain to 5 year olds why trying to hit me in the nuts with an aluminum bat is a very bad idea. Just a sec, got to burp the baby.
We shall continue to go on adventures! We will go to Arkansas and the middle of the country. We will go to museums and fields and places that have lots of things that we can break. Oddly though, this is the one area of my life that has gotten easier. Turns out new kid just sits in the stroller and the stroller gives us a base of operations. And if one of my other kids starts going astray, we just whack them with the stroller and get them back in line. My stroller, Old Bessie, is like a sheep dog.
The past 4 months have all been about adjusting, adapting to our new situation. Sometimes we are going to win and sometimes we are going to fail massively. Sometimes we will get repairs done and sometimes the new screens will have purple glitter on them because I got distracted. These are the things that I expect.
And I also expect lots and lots of naps. For the baby, not for me. I've got a hole in my rough that now needs my attention.
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