Is it wrong that I've been calling Spawnling "Pimples McZit" the last few days? I can't help it. The little potato is broken out all over his pretty face and I can't sit idly by without poking some fun at him.

I reserve the right as the incubator and feeder of Spawnling to mock him. It's not like he has candy I can steal and I have to take my cut somewhere. He's currently asleep on my lap as I type this two-handed. I guess he's realized that mommy's other baby is her blog. Horribly pathetic woman, thy name is The Maven.

Last night involved a baby waking up at 3:45am and forcing me to watch some biography on a guy in California who's dubbed the father of surfer music or some such thing. Why we couldn't have woken up wanting to play at 4am is beyond me, as at least then I wouldn't have had to suffer through 15 minutes of egocentric hasbeen docudrama before Without a Trace came on.

Just as Spawnling was settling down into Sleepyville again, Gutsy decided he would wake up and watch preschooler television at 5am. I didn't want to fall asleep until he did, so I was awake until about 5:30. When everyone woke up for the day aroud 8am (Gutsy didn't have preschool this morning and Intrepid took a sick day due to a cold) I peeled the demon spawn and I off the recliner in the livingroom and trudged into the bed, where we slept until 9:30am. Bliss.

This afternoon I packed up the baby and headed over to Lushgurl's house. She has a blog, you know. She just has to add some content. This is a HUGE hint, chicky. Get on that, will you?

Today's saying is: coffee makes mommy clever. I was much more awake and significantly happier after some java. Life looks a lot rosier after some caffeine, friends. For anyone who's ever turned a cold shoulder to this amazing drug of choice, I encourage you to return, open armed and apologetic with a large bouquet of roses. She is a mistress worth spending the big bucks on. I have several favourite lattes and a stroller that holds them to prove it.

My baby is growing so big so very fast and I have to admit I'm a little sad. Even at barely three weeks of age, a small (very small) part of me is yearning to have 'just one more'. That's the addict in me coupled with the very convincing maternal instinct that rears its ugly head on occasion. The same one that makes me want to spend time with my children and stay home with them and other such nonsense.

I've been quizzing all the mothers in my life, asking this important question: How do you know when you're done having children? And, more importantly, how do you accept that you're done? Does that maternal urge to hold little babies ever go away? Do you ever want to stop smelling their newborn scent or kissing their perfect little heads?

Maternal instinct is a bitch, isn't it?

Anyway, I know we're done. Partially because three pregnancies, three ten pound babies and two cesareans are more than enough for this girl. Partially because the almighty Geekster says we are done. He hath spoken, er, spokeneth. And stuffeth.

Three kids is a fairly large family nowdays. Plus, the gremlins are a bit of a handful compared to those alleged "calm children" I sometimes hear about. Plus, as I've said before, deaf children are loud. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I think money would be better served soundproofing the playroom than having more kids to put through college. Don't get me wrong, I love the gremz, but I don't and can't drink alcohol. In order to parent more children and maintain some semblance of sanity, I would have to have ready access to the booze.

So yes: three children it is.

Well, I should go throw on the roast (read: I should take the pre-made roast out of its package and microwave it alongside the pre-made gravy).

Instead of resenting me because this post is rather short, take a look at some of the new blogs I put on the list to the right ---->

A demain!