I am a three months postpartum mother of four.  It is no wonder I have lost a few things.

1.  The sash to my bathrobe.  Due to its perfect length and knotting ability, it can be used for many important things.  Holding on American Girl toilet paper dresses.  Tying together Stuffies and Pillow Pets.  Holding up the corner of blanket tents.

2.  My kombucha.  I swore they didn’t like this green flavor.  That’s why I bought the nasty tasting stuff.

3.  My bed.  I about fell off my allotted sliver last night.

4.  My butt.  Traded in butt-bump for mummy-tummy.  But did you know that DHA is actually stored in a pregnant and lactating woman’s thigh and butt fat?  All that DHA comes right off the butt and goes right to baby’s brain!  So our sagging buttocks are the glory of our children’s cerebral capacities.

5.  My scissors.  I’ve only got about 6 pairs.  Six lost pairs.  This isn’t even including the three, pink-handled children’s craft scissors lost in the depths of clutter.  (They stole my clean house too.)

6.  My time.  Does getting my upper lip waxed at a salon have to count as my free-time?

7.  My mind.  I wish all that DHA would go to MY brain!

8.  My lip gloss.  Although I suspect my girls, sometimes I think I see a pink shimmer on my husband’s lips.

9.  My temper.  I’ve lost it so much I’m down to whisper-yelling.

10.  My bathroom.

11.  My bath.  Tip-toe.  Tip-toe.  Super quiet.  Sneak off.   Fill tub with bath salts and lavender.  Get ready for “Aaaah.  Relaxation.”  Pitter-patter.  Pitter-patter.  “I heard you, Mommy.  Can I take a bath too?”

12.  My hand mirror to look at the back of my hair.

13.  My toothbrush.  This was the last straw.  The one that broke me down.  The one that made me remember the backwash floating in my mom’s Diet Pepsi from my stolen drinks.  The one that made me remember my Dad bellowing through the house looking for his nail clippers tucked on my bedroom vanity.  The iron I took to college from mom’s washroom without a backwards thought. . . Back to the breaking straw.  So, I had bought this cool, spinning toothbrush to cut down on plaque by 90% and stop any receding gum lines.  I loved it.  All my kids have had them in the past, but I finally bought one for me. . .  One day, I knocked on my closed bathroom door.  I heard some rustling.  I walked on into my bathroom.  And there was one of my darlings sheepishly trying out my new toothbrush.  “No worries,” I said.  “Finish up.  It’s a cool toothbrush, isn’t it?”

I could go on and on.  Kids are pretty special.  Love them.  Cherish them.  Call yourself to higher living (but come downstairs for supper occasionally).  Call them to higher living (but the top of the refrigerator is not safe).  Work on your marriage.  Keep it sound.

With our fourth child, I feel like my quality time with my husband has plummeted.  By the end of the day, I just want to slip away for some uninterrupted, quiet time.  I had forgotten how frazzling managing the house was with a baby in tow.  When I was pregnant with my first child, I looked at my husband and said, “No matter what, this child is here because of us.  No matter what, we must work to keep our marriage and love for each other strong.  We need to keep that no matter what.”  And we have.  With all that becomes lost in parenting, I refuse to lose the wonderful relationship with my husband.  May you, too, fight to always keep that special relationship growing.

Kids are great, but they are challenging!  Thanks for reading, and I look forward to trying to get back to blogging here more.  We recently had a great vacation to Indiana to spend time with friends and family.  Then I had to catch up on post-vacation laundry–plus some (and then some more) continuing medical education requirements I am happy to report that I completed.

Hang on for the ride, parents.  We can do this.

Terri

Photo credit:  By Jonas Bergsten [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons