Hey supermoms... I'm on to you!

My children and I are obnoxiously conspicuous everwhere we go. People stop and stare, then tell me I have my hands full ("no kidding," I say) Thanks for cluing me in! Admittedly, we are a sight: a toddler in the "car" at the front of the shopping cart, a baby-filled car seat inside the shopping cart, and an equally baby-filled car seat perched ontop of the shopping cart. "Where do you fit the groceries?" one old man asked. I nook and cranny it.  A few times women have come up to me, cooing, asking to see the baby (singular). I oblige, then after a few seconds of, "Oh! How darling!" I point and say, "there's another one in there." The shock is priceless.

Three kids is not such a big deal. When the twins are older I don't think we'll make such a scene. It's just something about two babies and a toddler that looks crazy. And it is. It's a big deal to go from one to two. It's a big deal to add any number onto your first: your cherished, beloved, doted on first. A neighbor of mine who has a 4 year old, and is currently pregnant with her second boy, asks me often how I'm doing. She looks skeptical every time I say we're doing great. The babies (knock on wood) sleep surprisingly well, and Lincoln handles their presence with the most love, curiosity and tolerance that you could expect from a toddler. I feel like she wants me to say it's hard, terrible... nigh unto impossible. She says she's nervous about taking care of a newborn and a demanding preschooler. I admit that I was nervous too, but it's amazing what you can adjust to once it hits. "Well... it will get harder once they are crawling around. It's not like you really have three yet," she said to me once. Ouch...

It's true that life will be even more of a juggling act once all my baby Metcalfs are mobile, but let me tackle one thing at a time. Raising young children requires you to be in the moment. Whereas some phases in life evoke questions such as, "What will I be when I grow up? What's my plan for the next 10 years? What purpose do I serve? Have I made a difference?" I find myself focusing more on, "Should I let him have that snack so close to dinner?  Can we fit in a trip to the library before the next feeding?  Do I have time to wash and dry the sheets before bedtime?" The fact is, the difference between success and disaster right now are the tiny choices I make in any given moment, everyday. It's a sensitive balance that I'm striving for-- making sure everyone eats, sleeps, plays, gets washed, read to, exposed to the sun and cheerful voices, at the right times and in the right doses.  Always the goal, rarely a reality.  Sometimes I load everyone up with clean diapers and clothes, snacks and toys, only to return home 20 minutes later because: a tantrum, a blowout, tag-team crying, an over-turned stroller (don't ask)... the list goes on.

But you know something?  My job seems almost easier now.  I keep the house cleaner than I did before.  When you only have 20 minutes of free time in each 3 hour segment, you have to prioritize.  I fold laundry, do the dishes, sweep the floors and cook meals like a mad woman.  I like catering to everyone, doling out love like I'm made of it.  I'm holding onto each child in the fragility of now, fearing my empty nester days will come all too soon.

My 60-year-old self envies this: