Last night, my husband went to play softball. He's on his 5th "I really need to lose weight" kick of the month, and he's right, so we're supporting him all the way. Once upon a time, he likes to tell me, he used to be a really good softball player, and back in the high school days, he was quite the sexy baseball player. I've always had a thing for sexy baseball players...
So the boys and I went to dinner at this place called Sweet Tomatoes. It's dawned on me recently that Miami isn't the be all of the rest of the Universe, so for anyone who might not have a Sweet Tomatoes in your area, it's a supposedly healthy take on a buffet, offering salad, soups, breads and pasta as well as fruits and non-fat frozen yogurts as dessert. And really, I imagine if you lay off the breads and pasta, it probably really is a healthy place to go. But, after B downed about six slices of pizza, and J scarfed down a bowl of macaroni and cheese bigger than his face so he could get to the "shaky milk", and I kept sneaking in some mini banana nut muffins, I remembered that it's as gimmicky as it makes you feel.
Anyway, life with two isn't easy. Hubs and I (I really have to come up with a better name for him - any suggestions?) often go back and forth on having another child. He feels our life is perfect with our two boys, and thinks the mere suggestion of having another implies that I disagree. For the record, I don't disagree. Life is perfect with my two boys. But that doesn't mean that on occasion, I don't reminisce about the "baby stage" or tearily look into the future and realize that B is growing up, no matter how many times I ask him to reassure me that he's my baby. It goes a little something like this:
"B, who's Momma's baby?"
"Meeeeeeeeeeee."
*insert deep sigh of relief*
But then there are those times at places like Sweet Tomatoes where really, I think another baby is great in theory. Of course, I forgot to get napkins, or water, or silverware for the boys as we sat down very, very, very far from the napkins, water and silverware counter in the restaurant. So, do I stop the boys from eating, load up my purse that has no less than five superheros, two stainless steel (read: heavy!) water bottles, one diaper, three squirty fish and a countless amount of crumbled crackers in it, along with my enormously large wallet to go get the stuff I need to make this meal a success? It's moments like these that I take the time out to envision yet another munchkin to add to that mix and think, really, going without another "baby stage" might be the best thing that'll happen to us. By the way, I did what every efficient mother would do-- I scoped out all potential exits, made a mental note of everyone's face, rehearsed yelling loudly, and explained to J that if anyone, and I did mean ANYONE even looked at him for longer than 2 seconds, he was to YELL LOUDLY, "MMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAMIIIIIIII", and told the server as I was stepping away to keep an eye on them. Luckily, J didn't decide to practice our emergency plan in the 30 seconds I was away.
I have a friend who has 3 boys (my dream) and has another baby on the way. And she still looks fabulous and is still a great mom and her boys are well behaved and yeah, she does drive a minivan, but still manages to be cool. And I look at her and have hope that I can do it, too. Part of it is probably competition, but mostly it's wanting to rationalize this baby into being. Where there's a will, there's a way...
But most days, I'll step out with the two munchkins to Target or Walmart or Publix or *insert mother store here* and sure enough, I'll look around and the most frazzled, poorly put together, mom-jeans-wearing, hair-in-a-raggedy pony tail looking mom in there is always, always, always carrying around 3. (Side note: Don't be offended if you have 3...either this is you, or it isn't. We have a La Leche League policy at this blog: "Take what works for you and leave the rest at the door".).
As we prepared for bed, little B brought me a book and said, "Mami, lee esto", and snuggled his head up against one side of my chest as J got his flashlight out and perfectly illuminated the pages for me from the other side of my chest, while Daddy came back all sweaty and smelling of youth and sexiness and kissed our foreheads. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, not doubting for a second that life with my three boys is perfect.
