A conversation with Spawnling

Today while the older two were wreaking havoc on Canada's educational system, Spawnling and I went outside to enjoy the mild but sunny weather. We searched for the wack-wacks in the ditch to no avail, but we did see a very friendly chickadee, some purple flowers and a big orange tractor which I presumed would be the highlight of our walk. I was wrong; the non-existant wack-wacks to chase disappointed my little demon spawn, so we went back home to swing in the yard.

"We didn't see any ducks today, Spawn, but we did see a lot of other neat things. What was your favourite?" I asked.

"Wack-wack!" replied Spawn.

"So the tractor, then?" I asked hopefully.

"No."

"The... imaginary ducks?"

"Mm-hmm," which is Spawnling for yes.

"Riiight."

He continued to swing for a while as I sipped my free latte (turning in rewards points for coffee gift cards was by far the best decision we ever made, even better than retirement savings. You can't drink retirement savings). The breeze blew gently across my face and ravens in the nest above us cawed. I looked over at the tulips I saved by putting rocks around them just before they were completely trampled by little gremlin feet. A new yard with new perennials for the boys to pummel with sticks and sand toys. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude.

"We're so lucky, Spawn. Look at all the nature around us. We're truly blessed to have this home and this yard, and to live in this neighbourhood."

"Weeee!" Spawnling shouted from his swing.

"It's really wonderful. But at the same time I have some guilt, because I know many people on the planet don't have what we have. The level of poverty in third world countries is truly unimaginable. It's almost sickening that we take up so much as a typical middle-class family when others have so little..."

"Mm-hmm. Ball!" agreed Spawnling.

"And you know.. We really have to be careful when it comes to our ecological footprint. I mean, I do what I can but I haven't exactly started composting yet and I've been saying I would for ages. And our fridge is constantly leaking water from the freezer and maybe we should replace it with something more green. Besides, finding soggy cheese is no way to start a morning."

Spawnling began to sing: "Car, car, car..."

"Yep. It's all about responsibility. Like this latte. What am I doing with a latte in a paper cup when I could have brought something reusable from home? And did we really need to drive there? I should think a little more in advance before we go to Fourbucks next time."

"Oooo! Cookie!"

"... Cook?... Oh, right. Your cookie. It's in the van. Do you want it?"

"Mm-hmm! Cookie." I handed the boy his treat and we sat on the front steps. Birds were singing and the sun shone warmly on us.

"I like talking to you, Spawn. Are we friends?"

"No."

As my toddler slowly covered his face with chocolate cookie, I pondered the last few minutes and came to two conclusions:

1. You know you've been a stay-at-home-mom too long when you start discussing ecological responsibility with your eighteen-month-old, and,
2. Like most of the men I've known, Spawnling only wanted to make conversation before I gave up the cookie.

Enter the den of sin

I know there are a lot of people who are terribly upset that I haven't posted in nearly a week. I don't blame you. I would also miss me if I wasn't with me all the time, living my awesome life full of... awesomness.

However, you'll all just have to suck it up and realize the hard reality of the situation:

I am Canadian.

It is now Spring.

I can go outside without a coat.

Do you see where this is going?

We've been living in the backyard for several days. Well, not living there, because we would have to pee in the hedges and subsist on barbecued squirrel. No, we live in the house. But we're outdoors a lot right now and it's completely won over any desire to play World of Warcrack or even *gasp* blog. However, I was going to do pilates tonight and would rather eat chocolate, so blogging was a great excuse to be lazy and unhealthy.

I wonder if I could sue blogger if I become diabetic. Google is American, and Americans can sue anybody for anything. I bet I could sue based on the remote possibility of getting sick due to my addiction to blogging. However, I would have to post more than once a week to prove an addiction. Maybe I'll use that as motivation. A goal, if you will.

Spawnling has really been enjoying the great outdoors. The Wack-wacks (ducks) have come around on several occasions. They're truly suckers for punishment, that's for sure. They visit our ditch and then climb up onto our front yard. As soon as The Spawn sees them, he screams 'WACK WACK WACK!" and rushes at them full tilt. The first two times they waddled back down into the ditch. The last time they flew off in a fit of quacks, leaving Spawnling to cackle in glee at his latest accomplishment.

I, as a mother, have never been prouder.

Also, while I'm sad to say he no longer calls everything 'whore', he does have a new favourite: Sin Dens. That's right. Spawnling has a Sin Den. Two actually. They go on his feet with Velcro straps and have Lightning McQueen on the side.

I like to call them his orgy shoes. What else would a "Sin Den" be but a den of, well, sin? It almost makes me want to run out and by myself a pair. Almost, but not really. I barely have time for non-sinning marital relations right now let alone an entire den of dirty deeds. It sounds like too much work. Maybe I'll buy myself some stupid Crocs. I wonder what Spawnling would call those?

*giggle*

A very happy birthday to the sweet little Chicka who turned 1 on Saturday. Her mama Sky Girl had us over for the party. I only brought Spawnling because he's my favourite. (Actually the other two didn't want to come, but that was a more shocking answer. I'm all about shock value with my suburban living and minivan ways. With a rebel yell and all that.) We had a great time after the first half hour when Spawnling was crying and clinging to me and wanting to nurse and sticking his hand down my top to twiddle my nipple. Thanks, little buddy. Nothing breaks the ice more than having my boob touched while I meet people.

He also made a point of hitting the birthday girl over the head when he confiscated her new ride-on toy and she tried to take it back. He even backed it away from her while it was still in the box. That, my friends, is the essence of toddlerhood. He was just trying to show her mom what she's in for this year. Oh, the fun!

Anyway, I should head off to bed. Or maybe I'll eat more chocolate first while wearing my Sin Dens. Gluttony is a sin, right? I guess that's why I'm not Catholic. I would hate to sin every single day.

You're joking, right?

I have to be honest: I had nothing to write about today. The idea of posting something bored me so much that I couldn't bear to do that to my loyal readership. It would be cruel, I figured, so I went about my day.

We went to speech therapy. We visited some friends. I drank three Tim Hortons coffees. Two that I bought myself and one that was bought for me. The one bought for me contained one milk and one sugar. I like one milk and one cream if we're going to be picky. That's what I asked for. I hate sugar in my coffee. Hate it very much, actually. I specifically said 'One milk and one cream. NO sugar, please' which was quickly followed by someone else asking for one milk and one sugar. Brain wires were crossed and my free coffee turned into one that I politely sipped on, trying not to wince at how sweet it was, then quietly threw out when no one was looking.

I'm a stealthy Maven. Sleek and stealthy like a cat. A fox, even.

Speaking of foxes, my neighbour saw one in his backyard yesterday. It's good to know who's partaking in our garbage when we take the cans out of the garage the night before pickup. So far we have seen:

- birds
- squirrels
- skunks
- rabbits
- raccoons (Spawnling calls them 'cocoons')
- ducks (Spawnling calls them 'wackwacks'. They were here for a few minutes until Gutsy went out to greet them. They quickly found a new ditch to make a home in. Something about a five-year-old running at them full tilt wasn't welcoming enough)
- deer

And apparently we also have foxes and, rarely, bears. I have seen neither. I would like to see foxes. I would not like to see bears.

I also looked at UFO sites on the internet today. Yes, I was that bored. Yes, I had a house to clean. No, I didn't feel like cleaning it. Yes, my children were being babysat by the television. Yes, I'm fine with that. I do need a break sometimes, you know. This stay-at-home-mom business isn't all fun and games. Sometimes we need to chill out and look at doctored photographs. One must keep one's mind sharp.

I tried to post here about four times and couldn't come up with a good theme. So I decided to find a "meme" site to give me incentive. I found this one and went to the "Question of the day". Want to know the question? You're going to love it as much as I do.

Are you paid what you are worth?


I spit my tea out, kittens. I did. I could not contain it. It rolled out of my nose and my eyes watered and I laughed so loud I thought I would wake Spawnling up (who went to bed at 10pm and has already woken up once since then).

Am I, a stay-at-home-mom, paid what I'm worth? Is that a trick question? Did the Powers that Be plan this out? I bet they got together and thought to themselves "Dudes! Dudes! LOLLLZZ! Wouldn't it be hilarious if we planted the idea in The Maven's head that she answer a question of the day, then make the answer incredibly obvious?"

Oh, Powers That Be, you are indeed very funny. You should have a comedy act. You could call it Guffawing Gods or something. I guess living in eternity would get boring if you didn't mix in some ironic twists, eh?

Here's my answer: When I am cleaning, cooking, running, helping, wiping, hugging, crying, refereeing, supporting, driving, reading, sorting and playing, I am not being paid what I'm worth. I don't think you can put a price tag on that kind of work. People try to when they open a daycare and charge whatever the market can bare to care for other people's children, but they're always underpaid. It's a volume business because it has to be. There's no way you could pay someone what they're worth.

However, when I'm looking at UFO sighting while my children watch Sponge-Bob and eat M&Ms, I should probably be paying someone else to pick up my slack.

It's not my fault. Someone ruined my coffee today, you know. How am I supposed to function?

My 300th Post comes with a fantastic offer!

Hey Kids!

Feeling bored in your humdrum life? Is everything going exactly the way it should and you need a little excitement?

Well, look no further!

Spawnling Infections Inc. is pleased to announce its third ear infection in a single month. That's right: the third! Unlike the first two this one comes on fast and furious, like the street racing movie but physically painful rather than just painful to watch. It will land you into the local children's hospital emergency room very early Monday morning faster than you can say "Damnit! Not another fever!"

Ear Infection #3 is bound to keep your life in constant flux. You'll be throwing out old antibiotic bottles on your way to the pharmacy to pick up a new one! And sleep? Forget sleep! Sleep is predictable and boring. This is about living life on the edge with a miserable toddler who screams while clutching his ear and wants "Mama" and only "Mama". Especially Mama's boobs. It's almost enough to make even the most committed extended breastfeeder wonder why she hasn't considered weaning just yet.

But wait: there's more! To throw some extra chaos into the mix, we'll add in a plethora of appointments for your other two children over the course of this week. Hearing aid adjustments, dentist checkups and a once-in-a-lifetime workshop for your eleven-year-old budding writer! All things you know you can't or shouldn't miss. Imagine dragging your grumpy toddler to and from all these fun activities. You'll never be bored again!

(Except when you can't go to any fun things like playgroup or get-togethers because Spawnling needs to stay away from other people until he makes a full recovery *sigh*)

Thankfully, this deal comes with a large skinny vanilla latte picked up after five hours of broken sleep and the hospital trip. It also makes for a lively 300th post for the blog. Yes, 300 posts. Imagine!

I've realized I don't even have a "theme" to my blog. You know how most people have some kind of direction? They can say "I have a recovery blog" or "I have a weight loss blog" or "I have a stalker blog that looks just like your blog" or whatever. What do I have? I have a parenting/recovery/ranting/infertility/fertility/extremely random blog.

It makes no sense. I make no sense. My children's crazy infections make no sense. I think I'll just keep it this way. Screw the themes. I'm a rebel.

A little bit of good news: Geekster and I had our first date since August thanks to the amazing Jobthingy and her sidekick Speedy. In the window between Ear Infection 2.0 and Ear Infection 3.0 we were able to go out and be a - gasp! - couple.

Geekster and I were able to do neat things like grownup people's hands (each others', not random stranger hands) and look at each other and not need to ask anyone to get-out-from-under-the-table -for-the-love-of-God-we're -just-trying-to-enjoy-our-meals-guys. We had coffee in a real coffee shop where they sell local art. Breakable art. I do not bring my children to places where I would need to cash in my retirement fund to pay for things they would inevitably break. Finally, we went to the library and did not head directly into the children's section. The non-children section was otherworldly. I had no idea it even existed.

Having had that reprieve (and a promise from Jobthingy to allow us a reprieve every month) rejuvenated me enough enough to be able to handle this new ear infection. I truly believe I would be a basket case today had it not been for Thursday's date. I owe Jobthingy a coffee when my Spawn is not oozing out his ear. There's something about ear ooze that makes the coffee drinking experience less appetizing.

I leave you with pictures taken while we were out. Jobthingy would like to point out that Intrepid is not in the ditch. He just looks like he is but he's not because everyone knows I don't allow him in the ditch and therefore he couldn't possibly be in it. A trick of the eyes, that's all.

Imitation is the weirdest form of flattery.

I know this is going to come as a surprise to many people, but I have a little bit of an ego.

Yes, me. The Maven. Why? Who knows? I'm fat and I wipe bums all day and the two careers I'm trying to get going have made me zero dollars thus far. It's a good thing I've learned to measure success in a different way. I have a stack of self-help books telling me financial freedom and good looks are not what true success is. So I cling tightly to the belief that I'm beyond all that pretty/rich crap. I rise above it! And to prove it, I googled my blog name just to see how awesome I am. Or at the very least, how awesome everyone else thinks I am.

I typed in 'stay-at-home-mayhem' and waited for all the pages to load.

All 2 pages.

Yes, only two, and we won't mention that some of them were simply archived posts of mine that Google had found. Apparently I have no reason to be egotistical.

But then, when my pride was at its lowest and my tail was firmly between my legs, I found this.

Seems harmless enough, right? I must have put my blog on a mom list, you figure. It's the ego thing. The vanity.

Look closer. That is not my URL. I'm a blogspot girl. Furthermore, she *cough* borrowed my tagline. The one I changed about a month ago when I made the banner up there.

"They don't call it chaos for nothing, kids. My Husband. My Kid. My Dog. My Life. For Your Reading Pleasure."

Remember that? She just switched it up a little.

The actual blog seems to be gone now, but the situation remains: Despite my failing careers, bum wiping, obesity and alcoholism, there is someone out there who inexplicably wants to be me.

That's just downright wrong. There are a lot of people in life to aspire to be, but I am not one of them, lambs. Go find someone who adopts orphaned children in Africa or raises funds to save the whales. Go imitate someone who has a sparkling house and extremely well-behaved children.

Now I can't figure out if I'm flattered or I just feel really, really sorry for this person because they can't find someone better to be like. I'm hoping the blog is closed because upon further reading of mine, she thought better of being associated with someone that is so many shades of crazy.

At any rate, it was funny to find that. But there is only one Maven of Mayhem, thankfully. I rock the chaos like no other.

Peace out.

And the award for Mother of the Year goes to....

I'm a firm believer of the "Do one thing and do it well" philosophy. Usually when I clean I do it a room at a time, top to bottom. Sure, the rest of the house looks like a test site for the atomic bomb, but look at how clean the office is! Just look at it being all shiny and what have you! I never said I was practical, did I?

I raise children. It's what I do full-time. Sure, I do the breastfeeding support thing and I do the writing thing, but they never take priority. I make the gremlins' meals and wash their clothes and take them for bike rides where I'm so sweaty I might as well be in a sauna (less strenuous and far more relaxing), and I watch the same movie over and over and over again (if I hear any rodent sing anything ever again it will be too soon). I attend their functions and their appointments and force feed them stinky medications and discipline them (far too often).

Yes, I am the expert when it comes to my three horned wonders. The chief. The top dog. I've been doing this eleven years, you know. This is where experience helps me rise above the newbie parents. Patience, kindness and organization. Staying on top of the ball. That's what makes me great.

Sunday night I carefully packed a healthy lunch for Intrepid and put it in the fridge. In the morning I made him wear a hat, told him to change his dirty pants (three days in a row?! Nuh-uh!) and sent him out to wait for the bus.

Fifteen minutes later he came back in. No bus. Did he miss it because it was too early? Was he going to miss it coming inside because it was too late? I figured I should be the good mom I am and advocate for my son. I called the school to complain about the bus and let them know that he would be biking to school.

When the secretary answered the phone I gave her all the information. The bus was either too early or too late and now Intrepid would be late for school. Could she let his teacher know? Did I have to go and fill out a late slip? I could hear the secretary trying to say something, so once I told her what was happening I let her speak.

"Uh, Maven? This is the principal. It's a PD day. There's no school today. That would be why the bus didn't come."

Oh.

Maybe Miss Organized Maven might want to check the boy's school calendar next time?

Do one thing and do it with mediocrity. That's how I roll.

As I'm attempting to blog just now...

... a scented candle is shoved in my face.

"Oh. Thanks for the candle, Spawn!"

"Whore."

"No, no. Candle."

"Whore."

"Caaan-dle."

"Whooooore."

"It's a candle. Say 'candle'"

"...Yo-yo."

Yo-yo? Can that be considered progress? I suppose we've graduated from a single syllable insult to a two syllable object. I'll accept just about anything at this point. Today the woman at the coffee shop did a double take when Spawnling pointed out the "whores" on the donut shelves.

In other news I purchased something - *drumroll* - for myself! Yes, for myself. All for me and nobody else. This is no small feat when the last decade of my life has been in service of other people. I cook, clean, change, teach, drive, hug, wipe, lecture, discipline, reward and support three boys, batteries not included. I tend to shop for them, not for me. I get their hair cut, not mine. They get new shoes and I don't. They get new jackets while mine falls apart a little bit more ever year. Heck, they even have nicer nails than I do.

Suffice to say that getting something just for me is a rarity when it shouldn't be. I should be putting myself first as all the magazines and parenting experts will tell you. A happy mom makes for happy, unabandoned children. It's simple enough that I should be going in for regular hair appointments and the occasional new footwear purchase. However, I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I haven't had a haircut since September of last year and haven't bought a new pair of shoes since last summer (and only then because I was in a wedding party).

But why, Maven? Why would you neglect yourself so?

Guilt, my flock. It's the guilt that drives me. Like most families, we have a limited amount of money for the 'extras' (and if you're not one of those people with a limit on extras, you're either rich or in debt up to your eyeballs. If you're in debt you can stay. If you're rich I don't like you and you can leave. Or give me money. Preferably the money. Thank you.) Anyway, it makes me happier seeing my gremlins in new shoes (which are ruined in the mud in two minutes) than seeing me in new shoes (ruined in 10 minutes, after chasing Spawnling through a puddle).

It's not practical to buy myself new things. I don't have a job where I'm expected to look stylish or even, well, good. I have a job where my potentially new clothing items are quickly stained with condiments, medicine and/or enormous amounts of snot.

But this thing I bought touches on the one problem I have that was supposed to go away after I became a woman and had to deal with ketchup and boogers: acne. Yes, I have a pimple issue. Blame my PCOS, that's what I do. No thirty-one-year-old woman should have to deal with breakouts all over her face. We've paid our dues to womanhood through copious amounts of bleeding, birthing and breastfeeding. By now I should be getting ready to tell Intrepid that the acne about to crop up on his perfect complexion will go away, get better, completely disappear by the time he reaches adulthood. But no. Instead I have Spawnling picking at my whiteheads saying 'Poke! Poke!' and giggling. Joy.

After the 537,342th time I saw the commercial for the ever-popular acne system hocked by the blond ex-reality star, ex-singer, I decided to try it out. Riddled with guilt, I committed to paying the exorbitant price and goop up my face twice a day in the hopes of gaining some vanity points. It's been about five days so I can't say how this will affect my hotness rating. But at least I have one little splurge just for me.

I told Geekster that the acne system is cheaper than a fourth child, which is my crazy logic that only he could understand. Three children and a clear face is actually more appealing right now than four children and zits. My ego knows no bounds.

Le Tigre or Blue Steel?

Want to know a little secret?

I don't care if he got an ear infection earlier this month and held a full-fledged scream-a-thon until he started feeling better.

I don't care that he got a second, double ear infection right on the heels of the first one and is now on another 10 day treatment of even stronger, scarier antibiotics.

I don't mind that he and I had to stay home this weekend while Geekster and the other two gremlins went to visit family and that he gave me a whole new appreciation for single parents.

It's alright that he drew on my freshly painted wall today with a pencil. That's what those white scrubby block things I got a sample of in the mail are for (they're almost gone, my samples).

It's okay that he threw the change I painstakingly sorted all over my once-clean master bedroom, into laundry baskets, jewelry boxes and crevices I can't reach into. I can pick that up just in time for him to do it again because I know damn well that I'm too mom-stupid to remember to put things like change and jewelry boxes somewhere unreachable by little hands.

I don't even mind that he keeps calling a bag of carrots a whore, as well as one of our cats, the colour pink, the guy walking his dog outside this morning, my friend's husband, and my mom. Yes, grandma is now a whore as well. Even after he degraded her she still had us over for dinner last night.

She doesn't mind and I don't mind. Why?



Because he looks like this. That's why. And he shall get away with murder (or at least tagging my walls) because of it.

He must know he looks kind of like Zoolander. A male model in the making, perhaps? Maybe he's just trying to figure out if there's more to life than being really, really, really, really, incredibly good looking.

The S.S. Uterus has sailed for the last time

So the Spawnling is sick again. Fever again. Cough again. Pulling at his ear again. The cold itself is pretty mild other than the Niagra Falls nose, but the rest of it makes me wonder if we're going to have to spend another lovely afternoon at the emergency clinic tomorrow.

Don't get me wrong: I love sharing space with people ill enough to want to share space in an emergency room with me. Who doesn't enjoy the germ melting pot? I also like to count how many times I visit the complimentary Purell dispenser. I get an addictive sting when the alcohol solution enters the cracked skin on my hands. I chant my mantra over and over: This is better than getting a stomach flu, this is better than getting a stomach flu, this is better than...

This week has been incredibly busy. My friend/client, or Frient, has had many ups and downs while attempting to successfully breastfeed her second child. Frayed nerves and plenty of coffee have been my companions as we've battled an iffy latch, jaundice, near hospitalization due to an infection in the cesarean wound, and in-laws who loathe the idea of breastfeeding and wish my Flient would just give up and bottle feed, already.

But you know what? She's still nursing. 9 days and counting! And the best part for yours truly (in the end it always comes down to yours truly)? I'm over my fourth baby fetish. Yep. Stick a fork in the tofu roast, people. I'm done. I personally thanked my Frient for this glorious turn of events. She said I was welcome.

It was a fun little pipe dream to birth a beautiful (quiet) baby (girl), but there just aren't enough positives to outweigh the vast chasm of negatives, be they potential risks or stark reality. The main one being that The Maven might want to have, oh, you know, semi-regular Maven time at some point in the next decade.

I've been re-living the baby thing on an average of every five years. What this means is that just as I'm starting to realize that people can shower every day, have hobbies, and enjoy sex for reasons other than procreation, I end up procreating. Mother nature greets me with a positive pregnancy test the impending smell of curdled spit up and a huge "gotcha again" grin on her face. Not this time, girlfriend.

There are advantages to letting my children grow up. For example: if I don't deal with the underlying issues surrounding my desire to pop out more and more babies and instead just let the boys get bigger and leave home, I can begin hoarding to fill up my empty nest like the lady on Oprah just recently. Then I can get my house decluttered and completely remodelled and score tickets to Chicago to tell millions to show off my new home. Maybe I can also meet Nate Burkus and convince him that he's not really gay and that he wants to run away with me. We could make beautiful rooms together.

Or, I can become unhealthily enmeshed in my adult children's lives, tying double knots on the apron strings and suffocating their desire to grow as individuals. Then, when they get married, I can one of those awful, overbearing mother-in-laws we all hear so much about. Eventually my son and his wife will bring me to Dr. Phil so he can tell me how wrong I am. Free trip to Los Angeles, nice hotel and all I have to do is be psychotic. I'm halfway there already!

Ok, seriously though. I'm done. For really real here. The Sister keeps laughing at me because she says I talk about it so much that I simply can't be done. That's not true. Sometimes I talk a lot about a book or a movie that I finished, but that doesn't mean I haven't finished it, right? Right.

I win. Neener neener.

In truth, there are some eerie things afoot in my life right now and I think they might be related to my decision not to spawn again:

1. I'm beginning to experience mornings where I'm able to open my eyes and not immediately dive for the coffee grinder and carafe. I believe this may be linked to a rare infliction in my life known as "uninterrupted sleep". It's not happening every night so I'm not freaking out just yet. I'm simply keeping an eye on it to see if it gets in the way of my exhaustion on a long-term basis.
2. Sometimes, during the day, I find myself with enough time to clean some of my house. And, if that's not strange enough, there are even times when I can sit down and watch a half-hour show without needing to get up. I know what you're thinking: how is this possible? What is this 'daytime television' and how can she claim to see any of it? It may have something to do with the gremlins... entertaining each other... and themselves... without my help. Did get that last part? Without my help.
   
3. I've gone out two nights in a row without my cell phone. Last night was to get coffee with a friend and tonight was my weekly shopping trip with my sister. Nothing out of the ordinary except that my cell phone was dead and Geekster couldn't call me if there was a problem. This would normally send me running for the charger but instead I... I... left it. Yeah. I left my cell phone at home. There was no need to bring it because he doesn't need me to be here. My husband can manage all three of them without me. I used to inevitably get calls from a hubby with a screaming, hungry nurseling and would have to promptly dash home. Not anymore. I might have to actually enjoy myself when I go out now. I don't know if I can handle that.

So, in short, I believe I may be able to get used to this strange and beautiful new existence. What will I miss about babies? A lot of things. What won't I miss? A lot of things. But I'm pretty damn lucky to have three healthy boys with a PCOS-inflicted body. And have you seen the price of groceries lately? I might have to have a fourth child just to work the fields.

Well, if we had fields. And then I'd probably want to work them at least a couple of hours every day just to be away from the yelling and the mess and the poop and everything. Working the fields could be my new hobby.

Must go. Spawnling's awake. Diving for coffee grinder tomorrow? Check.