[This throwback post is in honor of my niece Jaime who just added a third little boy to her brood in much the same timespan that Rick and I had our three little boys. There’s always someone around us having a baby – it never fails to call up all those memories of “the good old days”.]

I don’t remember the exact moment that I signed up to be a parent, but I believe my endorsement was a reflex action after the stick turned blue. When Rick and I got married, we knew we wanted kids eventually. After all, my new husband had two years of schooling to complete first. Who knew that after four months of practicing “planned parenthood”, much to our surprise we were planning parenthood?  After three kids in four years and lots of curious people inquiring if we knew what was causing it, we were pretty happy to be parents. In a way, having children is like stepping onto a scary, exhilarating, stomach-upsetting roller coaster. Once you have one, you often ask your partner, “You wanna go again?”

For all the satisfaction of producing a cuddly, adorable, dependent little baby there is nothing that replicates the shock of being awakened night after night by the same hungry, wailing, dependent little baby. Things like a full night’s sleep (four hours in a row feels amazing), bathing, hot meals (after re-heating it twice in the microwave, you finally just wolf it down cold), spit-up free clothing and two free arms become a luxury, like a fairy tale beginning: “Once upon a time, a LONG time ago…”           

Well, we’ve made it through that stage of parenting and we’ve successfully weaned, potty-trained and surgically removed soothers from our three boys, but our training in selflessness is far from over. The same issues of sleeping, eating and crying just resurface with new challenges. The kids still wake us up at night with nightmares, sleepwalking or parching thirst. As if that isn’t enough, now they can get out of their own beds and crawl into ours. If it’s already been a pretty bad night and we’re particularly unconscious, we might not even notice. That is, until the next day when you wake up with a horrible kink in your neck because some child was sleeping horizontally in your bed with one foot stuck in your ear. Then just as you drop off in the afternoon to catch a few winks to make up for the bad night and the bad neck, some child (who is supposed to be playing quietly in his room) calls from the bathroom for your assistance with the toilet paper.

And do I really need to mention the pitfalls of trying to feed young children? Just when I think I’ve developed a safe repertoire of spaghetti, chicken nuggets and grilled cheese sandwiches, the oldest child announces that he no longer likes the very thing that used to be his favorite and his adoring younger brothers follow suit. My kids don’t even like potatoes unless the cholesterol and fat levels have been exponentially increased and they come in a red box with an “M” on it. Which isn’t to say that I don’t make them eat their requisite age-numbered spoonfuls of mashed potatoes. There’s just a lot of nose pinching and gagging that accompany the process. When people see my three boys and comment that our grocery bill will certainly skyrocket when they’re teenagers, I just think that I can’t wait to see them eat a full meal.

I do have to say that the crying issue has changed a great deal. I no longer cry as much as my kids do. The initial burdens of childcare had me weeping daily for lack of sleep and lack of resources for managing this parenting thing. After a few years of motherhood under my belt, I feel like I can pretty much tackle anything. The roller coaster hasn’t really changed, but maybe now I’m just getting used to it. In fact, I’m loving every minute of it.