After coming up with the title, I realized that I’ll probably need to clarify: the third kid is not me expecting, it’s me counting my husband as a child. Sometimes I loving refer to him as my third child, as I’m sure a lot of wives also are guilty of. In my case it isn’t because I think my husband is juvenile or immature, in fact he’s basically the opposite of either scenario. He’s a great father because he’s able to tap into the minds of the boys and entertain them a lot better than I can. He knows what it’s like to be a child. I never really enjoyed cartoons or Disney movies. I liked books, art, and writing. I suppose not much has changed.

The long weekend started on around Thursday, when the baby decided to be incredibly fussy and tired. (Image borrowed from funnyasduck,net) Last time we played this lovely game of “how can I make you happy today?”, I ended up with a painful surprise of his first set of teeth. Our assumption is that we’re ready for round 2 of “To Teethe or Not To Teethe”. I was just getting used to my angel getting back to a proper sleeping schedule. Now, I get evil glares from over the crib saying “excuse me, I would like you to pay attention to me now” at all hours of the night. And when there isn’t that, I get kept up because he has his father’s and brother’s skill of “sleep talking”. And he’s loud. I want to be mad and tired and cranky, but he smiles his “two teeth” smile at me, and I can’t do anything but laugh. I also pretend to be awake the rest of the day, but if I keep one eye open I don’t doze off.

Then there are the sick puppies. Doggy number one comes down with mystery illness also on Friday, giving a fun weekend of “where is he going to get sick on now?” It was a thrilling game that I luckily didn’t have to play too much of, which was great because did I mention there might be a teething baby? He eats everything so we just assumed that he ate something that upset his stomach and he’ll work through it. Until doggy number two ended up sick as well this morning. Oh yes, always on my toes.

Then there is my husband. Let’s be honest: men are babies when they are sick. They whine, they whine some more, then they fall asleep. It’s ok though, at least in my case, I know he returns the favor. And by favor I mean ordering me to bed making me trust he’ll take care of everything. He does, in his sweet way of serving me tea and helping me feel better. He also makes sure the oldest son is kept in Slim Jims and Salt & Vinegar chips with a side of pepperoncinis, while they stay up late watching cartoons. Oh I love my boys.

Mothers thrive on this adrenaline of not sleeping. We want to sleep, but we keep going and we have the ability to not complain too much about it. The family is worth every sleepless night and every article of your clothing that ends up in the wash or trash due to something incredibly gross getting on it. We might end up with God knows what in our hair at the end of the day with a sick family and we can honestly say we’re too tired to care. (I admit it.) But like everything else in life, you have to just take the bad with the good. Because the good is worth every second of the bad.