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Third time’s the charm(er)

in Parenting

Photo by keb on

My three kids each have very unique personalities. My oldest is a remake of me, my middle one is just like my husband, but my third… he is his own unique being.

He is an energy-filled, outgoing, fearless 4-year-old who has never met a stranger. Consider the Iraqi Santa, for example. His goal is to make everyone in his world smile. And it works.

I have never made a secret of the fact that he wasn’t exactly a planned pregnancy. After years of infertility and miscarriages before having my first full-term delivery , to actually get pregnant while on the pill was a surprise to both me and the OB. I actually found out that I was pregnant with him while on a pilgrimage to Ireland. As soon as I started feeling sick I had that, “the only time I am ever THIS sick is when I am…. oh shoot!” moment.

I always believed I’d have another one, just not quite so soon. But we would quickly learn that his entire life is unplanned. He spent most of his incubation time on my sciatic nerve, and he even sent me to the hospital completely numb on the left side of my body at 35 weeks pregnant. They took him by c-section 14 days early weighing in at 10 pounds and 6 oz. He was a BIG boy!

I swear he came out running, and he has never slowed down. He is my goer and a doer. You cannot stop his forward motion, you can only hope to redirect it.

I have heard so many people talk about their “extra blessing” or “bonus child.”  There are lots of positive ways to spin it. For me, he is my “surprise” kid, and the surprises never really stop.

Whether he is asking a pregnant woman how many kittens she is carrying, chasing a raccoon up a tree in the State Park, asking his vertically-challenged grandmother why she stopped growing “too-too” soon, or streaking through the house with nothing but socks and a make-shift super-hero cape tied around his neck; I could not imagine my life without my little energy ball.

To understand his outgoing nature, look no further than the post office last week. He was collecting acorns by the front door when I told him it was time to head out. He asked what he should do with his precious new treasures and I said he could either put them in his pockets or leave them there. About that time a 70-ish year old lady strolled by and was assaulted by my son as he said, “will you hold my nuts? They don’t fit in my pants.”

“Acorns,” I explained when she gave me an accusatory look. “His acorns won’t fit in his pockets.”

Parenting is hard. Mothering three little ones well is almost impossible. But the older they get, the more I understand that my youngest will keep the adventures (and the stories) flowing. I can’t imagine my life without him.


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