I cannot tell you how frustrated I am. Whoever said three's a charm was not talking about children.
Motherhood, it's just plain hard. Enjoyable and full of benefits, but hard. And nothing breaks me down harder than having to tend to three kids, three different ages, all at once. How do you change a diaper, play Duck Duck Goose, and help with math homework simultaneously? How does one single-handedly spoon feed an infant, applaud shape tracing, review spelling test words all within 3 separate realms of a single moment?
I'm convinced that someone suffers, whether it be the middle child, who doesn't get all the intellectual treatment of the oldest nor the gentle cooing of the youngest, or the baby, who might end up with pureed veggies in his neck from a spoon blindly misdirected off its target. Is it the oldest, who suffers from the frustration of his parents, inadvertently brought on by the care of the other two children? Or maybe the parents suffer, crying silently inside for fear they cannot meet the insatiable demands of either three.
I suppose one of these years I'll get it down. I'll learn how to juggle pots and pans with endless rounds of Uno and book reports on outer space. I'll effortlessly intertwine myself in locating lost blankies, pretending to play "school", and practicing handwriting on those wide three-line sheets.
Until then, I guess I will just learn how to make due -- that is, until they figure out how to make humans sprout three heads, 6 arms, and a gigantic store of patience.
For now, it's three for one.