At 33, I find myself surrounded by friends who are just beginning their families. Some are planning their first child, some are thinking about a second, some are considering parenting nothing but animals for the rest of their life. Personally, I’d say animals are the way to go. Much less attitude and they are always happy to see you. However, this is not about discouraging you from having a million babies, it’s about answering a question that I often get asked by my family wanting/planning friends: What is it like having 3 kids?
Ok, I make it look easy. I do. But I assure you, it’s not. It’s really not. It’s hard work regardless of how many you have. I had my first child at 21 and it was not planned. (See blog “Gratitude Forgotten…and then remembered” for more details.) It rocked my core. Changed everything I knew. After everything I had experienced in my youth, I decided I needed to start fresh, somewhere else. My boyfriend, my roomate and I packed up our bags and bought a one way train ticket to Victoria, British Columbia. I couldn’t wait to be by the water. I couldn’t wait to get away from all the bad I was leaving behind. I started my post secondary studies and planned on becoming a doctor. I was going to work for Doctors Without Borders and surf my way around the world. It was perfect. My boyfriend and I were happy, maybe a little to happy. Enter Pearce, my first born. The universe has a funny way of telling you that you cannot simply run from your problems. I heard the universe loud and clear. Here we were, thousands of miles away from family, about to raise a child, finish our studies, and work full time jobs without any support. Yup, the universe was not my friend. Ok, it was, it always is. But at the time, the universe and I were fighting. FINE!!! After three years in BC, we packed up any belongings we could fit into a small uhaul and our Hyundai. After three years of happiness, my boyfriend, my 7 week old son and I moved back to Toronto. Back into my parents house, where I had not lived for 6 years. I swallowed every bit of my pride because it was the right thing to do. I knew it was. So, I apologized to the universe. Now that we were on speaking terms again, the universe challenged my stubborn self in every way imaginable. I thought I could do everything alone, pffffft, enter post-partum depression. I thought I could ignore the strain on my relationship with my parents, enter the fighting. So many thoughts, enter counselling, medication, repression breaking through every wall I had built, a break up, single parenthood, full time school, part time work, a custody battle from hell, crying, tears, wanting to run away. Thanks universe! No really, thanks! It made me realize that I wasn’t ok. Not yet. I worked my butt off, repaired relationships, raised my son, excelled in school, worked on my physical/mental/emotional/spiritual health and learned the importance of a supportive network of love. One child rocked my core. It was not easy but it was possible.
I met my husband when Pearce was 3. We worked together, we were friends, we fell in love. I was a package deal. It was clear. I was willing to love and be loved but not to compromise the life I chose. He wanted the package. I couldn’t imagine the father he would become, life was wonderful. I finished school, started my career in social work, I was physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually healthy again. THANK YOU UNIVERSE! When Pearce was 5, I gave birth to my second son, Lincoln. Child number 2. This was a perfect addition to our family. He was a wonderful child and he fit right in. With two adults and two kids, we were perfectly partnered up. When one needed to be fed and the other needed to play, hubby and I split up and tackled the tasks. Hubby could put Lincoln to sleep while I spend some quality time with Pearce on our mommy/son date nights. Hubby and I could have a monthly date night and my parents were happy to babysit their two favourite people. It was great. 2 was perfect. 6 months later…Seriously universe?!?!?!
With a 5 year old and a 6 month old, I became pregnant with my third child. The universe has a great sense of humour. Really funny. Hilarious! At first, I thought about all that I’ve overcome. Surely, this was no big deal. I got this! I had a wonderful husband, great kids and a supportive family. Alright, here goes nothing! But wait. That’s when I realize the world is not built for families of 5. It’s built for families of 4. Vacation packages for 4. The backseat of a car only fits 2 carseats. 3 bedroom homes. Wait a minute, this isn’t going to work. I find myself trading in my car for a minivan. I said I would never drive a minivan. Our 2 bedroom loft isn’t going to work. Now, 7 months pregnant, I’m in the middle of a move. After growing up in downtown Toronto, I have to move to the suburbs to find an affordable place. Moving away from the support system I’ve built, away from the life I’ve known. What is happening?!?!?! Adding a 3rd child changed everything. Campbell, spent his first couple years in and out of the hospital. Lincoln was learning to walk and I was feeding a sick infant. My commute to work was longer. My monthly daycare bills have helped to rack up a debt that will take years to repay. My car payments went up. My housing costs went up. My visits to the hospital with injured children went WAY up. My condo is crowded. I have to recruit more parents because they all play sports. When the 3 of them run in different directions, hubby and I have to decide which two are worth saving based on their behaviour that day. My life has changed. It’s chaotic in ways I couldn’t have imagined it to be. But I wouldn’t change it for anything.
The universe has a funny way of telling you exactly what you need. One kid, two kids, three kids, or animal babies. My answer is simple, stop worrying so much about planning the life you think you want. Let the life you’re supposed to live find you.
And miles to go before I sleep 