First Baby:
You shower. And groom. (You know what I mean.) You bathe #1. You dress them in cute clothes. You arrive with your husband 15 minutes early. He carries the carrier since you're still "recovering." You bring thank you notes to the doctor, nurses, and #1's baby announcement. You have a sweet little appointment full of oohs and aahs over #1, talk about how crazy and tough adjusting to having a new baby is.
Third Baby:
You still shower since it's been 4 days since you last washed your hair. (It's healthier for your curly hair that way, you tell yourself.) And seriously, they are checking your stuff. You change #2 and #3's diapers. You're pretty sure everyone has shoes on. You think you're on top of things with distracting activities and snacks packed in the diaper bag. You arrive only 1 minute late to the doctor's office (NAILED IT) sans husband. Because you stopped "recovering" 4 days post partum when you bought a house and put yours on the market and your husband went back to work. They call you back, you know the entire office by first name because you've been there SO MANY TIMES. The realize you forgot that baby announcement and you know you haven't come close to writing thank you notes yet. You sit on the exam table, 99% certain your blood pressure will be high because you're disciplining #1 and #2 while the nurse checks it. You pull out the iPad for distracting for #1 and #2 then realize your husband has changed the password since it's a new iPad. You pull out the backup LeapFrog, discovering it's out of batteries. Then you look for your phone to call your husband to get the new iPad password but realize your phone has been left either at home, in the car, or has been run over in the parking lot already. But you can't go out to use the office phone because you're already naked from the waste down and covered in a white sheet. So you resort to giving your kids the snack and break the news that when you were a kid, there were no iPads or LeapFrogs and you stared at pictures on the wall when you went with your mom to the doctor. (Insert disbelief, a few tears, and a failed attempt at their favorite game of I Spy.) You then decide on what IUD the doctor is going to place because this body is DONE procreating. Since you've already dropped your drawers with #1, #2, and #3 in the room, said nurse offers to take #1 and #2 into the hallway because you express concern that #1 may retell this story and how often he's exposed to breastfeeding boobs while in a counseling office when he is 16 years old. You laugh with your doctor at the entertaining events taking place with a speculum inserted in your woman parts about how last time you were in stirrups post-delivery and he was stitching you without anesthesia, you wanted to kick him in the face. You have an anteriorly tilted uterus (of course) so you bleed a fair amount (of course) during the semi-painless procedure. You then take up the doctor and nurse on their offer to keep #1, #2, and #3 in the office coloring while you run to the lab upstairs next to prevent your children from return with some unknown illness from the hacking 6 month old and 90 year old who sit in the inter-mingled, well thought out pediatric, neurology (I think) and lab waiting room. And you promise said nurse and doctor that you will return for #1, #2, and #3...eventually.
For real. That just happened, y'all. Send your teenage girls to our house for a healthy dose of birth control. But in all seriousness, I wouldn't have it any other way. In all it's chaos and messiness, I'm uber-thankful.
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