I can see why my parents stopped at three children. And it's not because the third time's the charm. And it's not because that third child was finally the perfect one they'd all been waiting for.
It's because the third child is REVENGE for everything you ever did to your parents. There is no time to make another child because you're too busy cleaning up after that blessed THIRD one!
Let me give you a few examples from the weekend, in case I'm not being clear here:
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Previous to yesterday, I had placed large pieces of tape across my
desk drawers/filing cabinet, as I was tired of having to clean up the
empty spaces after she'd made a go through of them. Yesterday
afternoon, while I was enjoying the 85 degree day and I thought the kids
were as well, I take a break to come in and find the twenty pounder on
top of my desk, clearing it off as if I needed to dust it. (See photos)
When I asked, "Elia Clara. What do you have to say for yourself??" She simply said, "Mess".
She got out of bed in the night and made
her way to my bathroom, opening every tampon, crushing all the Dixie
cups and peeling the sticky off each and every panty liner in my jumbo
package. (So much for saving money on the big box.) As it were, she slept in the crib the rest of the night with panty liners stuck all over her pajamas. I was too mad to take photos. And probably too tired.
On Friday, I was making my bed while she was climbing up the entertainment center and taking a dripping wet washcloth to our LED TV screen. I need to find a new place for the dog's water bucket. When I told her 'no', she threw the wet washcloth into the speaker, of which she had already removed the mesh cover.
Saturday, while playing in the park, she made a dash for the road. I was thirteen steps behind her and caught her just as she turned to laugh and giggle about standing in the intersection. When I paddled her butt, the neighbor yelled, "I saw that!" and started to reminisce about his own young child, once upon a time.
When it was time to leave for a concert last night, there she was, laying in the sandbox under the deck, sand stuck all over her as she'd just come from standing and playing in the dog's water.
I'm not saying she won't grow up to be as wonderful, spontaneous, loveable, responsible and carefree as her mother (also the wretched third child), but I am thinking Kindergarden seems a long way off right now!
