mom of three Archives – Leap of Faye

12 Ways the Transition From Two to Three Kids Rocked Me

How’s the transition from two to three kids?

I get this question a lot. From mothers gazing wistfully at my sweet baby to mothers eyeing me as if I’m insane. Maybe I am.

Because we did it. Added a third child to our brood of littles. And we now have three under the age of five.

I used to wonder about the transition myself. A lot. I could barely manage two, and was pregnant with another. I asked every mother of three I met whether the transition from one to two kids was more difficult, or the transition from two to three. I realize now that most of them skillfully evaded the question, instead smiling and saying something like “you’ll manage,” or “it’s the greatest gift.”

Doesn’t matter, because now I have the answer. IT. IS. HARD. I hate to be the bearer of bad news to any mother of two expecting a third, but going from two to three ROCKED me. Is STILL rocking me. For me, it was infinitely more difficult than going from one to two.

Someone is always waiting

With two, I could tend to one child and then promptly tend to the next. So Child A could be helped on the potty, and then Child B could be fed. With the addition of another child, someone is always third in line. And, unfortunately for my eldest, it’s usually him. So I can help Child A on the potty, nurse Child B, and only then feed Child C. I simply can’t do it all at once, so my life has become a never-ending to-do list of tasks: dress A, feed B, nurse C, brush A’s teeth, help B on the potty, change C’s diaper, etc. And although my children are adjusting, there is often someone who is none too happy about having to wait his turn.

Triple the laundry, triple the mess

Because I allow our laundry to accumulate, I now do a mountain of it every other day (I should probably be doing it daily). Three kids means three sets of clothes, blankets, sheets, washable toys, and everything else. Considering an average of one child will have some sort of mess or accident daily, there are even more outfits added to the mix. And speaking of mess, I’ve given up. Our home consistently looks like a tornado hit it. And someone is always spilling milk, dropping food, or leaking a diaper. So I pretty much spend my days cleaning up after everyone.

I clean up poop constantly

Change diaper, pick up after the dog, change pull-up, clean up poop that didn’t quite make it into the potty, and repeat. This is my day.

Our grocery bill has skyrocketed

And our youngest has only just started eating solids! Three kids eat A LOT, and I can hardly keep the house stocked. Our extra-large capacity fridge can barely hold everything we need to store, and we’re already looking into an extra freezer to keep in the garage. Our pantry overfloweth to the point where some food items permanently reside on the counter. I am in fear of what my kitchen will look like come the teenage years.

It takes strategy to get everyone successfully buckled into the car

I’m not joking when I say that it often takes more time getting everyone into the minivan and safely buckled into car seats than it does driving to our destination. I suppose on the plus side I’ve become super flexible what with having to climb in and out and contorting my body into awkward positions to reach and buckle all three into second rows, third rows, and both rear and forward facing.

Nobody wants to babysit. Or, if they do, I probably can't afford them. #MomOfThree #Motherhood Share on X

They refuse to all nap at the same time

With two, I worked hard to get them both to nap at the same time. And they finally did! It was pure bliss. Two to three hours of quiet. With three, this has proven impossible. Someone is ALWAYS awake. So sure, I may have just gotten the two older boys down for a rest – but then the baby starts wailing. I have constant company.

Nobody wants to babysit

Or if they do, I probably can’t afford them. One kid is easy-peasy; everyone’s got a sitter recommendation. Two kids aren’t much harder – maybe it costs a few bucks more an hour, but everyone is still willing to do it. Three kids are a game changer. Very few people will even agree to it and, if so, you better believe there is a pretty significant upcharge. Even if the stars aligned and I found someone, I’d probably be a nervous wreck my entire time away seeing as I can barely manage them as their mother!

Nobody is quite old enough to help

I keep reading articles purporting that going from three to four kids is actually easier than two to three. It seems counter-intuitive because four is obviously more than three. But if you think about it, by the time the fourth baby comes along there is at least one child old enough to help. With three, on the other hand, you’re not quite there unless there is a more significant age gap. The eldest still requires a lot of hands-on attention and is hardly ready to help with a newborn. So now you’re spread three ways.

We bring the party wherever we go

And this isn’t always a good thing. Let’s say a friendly neighborhood mom wants to schedule a playdate with my toddler. Since we’re a packaged deal (see: Nobody wants to babysit), we show up like party crashers with not only the invited toddler, but a rambunctious preschooler and crying baby to boot. Over time, the friendly neighborhood moms may find it’s simply not worth the trouble.

Double the preschool fun – I mean, fees

We will be paying two preschool tuitions for the next 300 years. Or close to it. And this is only a glimmer of the expense we will be faced with when all three are in college at the same time.

Apparently hotel rooms limit occupancy to four people

Who knew?? I mean, we all crammed into rooms like sardines when partying in our youth, right? I don’t know if it’s become more strict since then, or if a crying baby and fighting preschooler and toddler ruin the charade, but it seems that hotels are hip to the game. Which means no more hotel rooms for the foreseeable future.

There is no ideal airplane seating configuration

Seriously. What is the best way to corral three hooligans? A parent by the window and one across the aisle? Two rows, one behind the other? Or simply stick all three kids in the back by themselves and pretend you don’t know them? The sad thing is, it doesn’t really matter. Someone will have a meltdown no matter what you do, and you will always end up being “those people” you once despised pre-kids.

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I could go on. But I think you catch my drift. It’s HARD. The world that seemed to perfectly cater to our family of four now seems lopsided with the addition of a fifth member.

That said, the fifth member who seems to have thrown everything else off has made us complete. He was our family’s missing piece. He filled the gap and answered a question. And let’s face it – triple the kids means triple the cuddles, triple the hugs, triple the love.

So now when mothers ask me about the transition from two to three kids, I don’t hold any punches. I tell them it rocked my world. I tell them it’s been one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done. I warn them to think through all the implications.

And then I tell them I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. That, despite the difficulty, it’s been one of the greatest experiences of my life. And when they look at me, questioning and wondering out loud if they should do it themselves, I give them my vote: a resounding YES.

Things I Never Thought I Would Do Until I Became a Parent

I pretty much had it all together before I became a parent. The career, the social life, the travel and experiences. Everything was going along swimmingly. I knew who I was and what to expect.

And then my world was rocked.

Not once, not twice, but three times over the course of four years. By three little men who demanded my complete attention. My complete everything, really.

And as the memories of hip restaurants and exotic travel slowly dissipated into the background of my new sleep-deprived life, I found myself doing things my pre-kid self could have never imagined.

I suck boogers out of little noses.

Literally. With my mouth. Fortunately there is an apparatus that allows me to do so without actually ingesting said boogers (thank you, Nosefrida) but it is still disgusting. Yet necessary, as I’ve quickly learned that regular old nasal aspirators simply can’t suck out the same volume of snot as my mouth can.

I sniff butts for bowel movements.

Ah yes, I’m a pro at the old one-handed-butt-lift-and-sniff maneuver. It’s simply the only way to know with certainty whether a diaper needs to be changed. And in order to avoid a false alarm, I’ve mastered the art of discerning between the scent of an actual crap or a simple fart.

I watch Caillou.

Don’t judge me. You would too if it was a choice between that and a symphony of blaring musical toys and fights over who gets to turn off the bathroom faucet.

I clean fecal matter off of everything.

I used to think that picking up after the dog was gross. Now I can clean up human poop smeared all over little people and their belongings without a flinch. Bonus points for having had the conversation with an on-call pediatrician about how to handle a child who has possibly swallowed poop (and learning that it apparently happens “all the time”).

I go to sleep by 9pm.

Okay, 8:30pm. Maybe sooner if I’m lucky. Pretty much moments after I get the kids tucked in. Never mind that this would have formerly been the time of our dinner reservations, hours before we began getting ready to go out for the night.

Sucking boogers out of small noses is just one thing I never thought I would do - until I had kids Share on X

I lose my shit.

I used to be so cool. If I didn’t agree with something, I could easily let it go. But kids have a way of unraveling your very last nerve. I ask them nicely. They ignore me. I ask them more firmly. They continue. Then before you know it I’ve become a screaming shrew with a bulging forehead vein.

I scope out the neighborhood for cool parks.

And by cool, I mean parks that are fully enclosed with latching gates. With minimal concrete and maximum green space. And adequate shade.

I whip out my boobs anywhere and everywhere.

I offer them up willingly while cooing, “are you hungry?” Enduring tugs and bites on my calloused nipples. Wearing shirts and bras with hidden holes and stretchy panels for easy access. What about modesty, you say? Out the window from the moment I delivered my first child.

I implore people not to lick doorknobs.

Or their shoes. Or the Target cart. Or their brother’s foot. As I obsessively slather them in hand sanitizer in a futile attempt to prevent illness.

I drive a minivan.

I used to work for automotive companies. Which means that I was able to lease a custom ordered brand shiny new vehicle every year. And never once did I opt for a minivan. Not once did I even CONSIDER a minivan. But now it’s my vehicle of choice. The only metal box that can fit my entire brood and all their stuff. And, yes, I’ve become the mom who waxes poetic about the many practical features of her minivan to all her friends.

I go to chain restaurants.

The places I would turn my nose up at in the past have now become our family hangouts. Kids menus? Cheap alcohol? Yes, please! If I drink enough I can almost imagine that my fried fish taco is a seared ahi tuna steak. And that the kids are eating organic free-range chicken breasts instead of heavily battered chicken fingers.

I allow myself to be mauled.

By little people climbing all over me. Grabbing, hanging, and hugging. Every day. Tugging at my clothes and clinging to my leg. Kicking me in the night. Sweaty hands cupping my face. Slobbery kisses. While I sit, sometimes patiently and sometimes not, trying to embrace the violent onslaught of affection that will be gone before I know it.

Because it truly is fleeting. I do recognize this and am trying to soak it all in.

Even as I shout at someone to stop jumping on the bed for the 149^th time.

My Latest Features on Scary Mommy – Pregnancy & Motherhood

I’m excited to have two new features posted on Scary Mommy this week!

The first, 10 Things Not to Say to a Woman Pregnant with Her Third Son, is my ode to well-wishers (or maybe not?) everywhere who don’t know quite what to say when they hear that a mother is expecting not her first, not her second, but her third boy.

The second, 7 Things to Appreciate About Being of Advanced Maternal Age, lay out the reasons I actually enjoy being a mother of advanced maternal age – despite the risks and the often touted negatives.

I would love if you would check out the pieces and share or comment!