I recently saw on facebook, this article and video by parents of three who were tired of the judgment regarding their pregancy with their fourth child. I'm not gonna lie, I've had the parody stuck in my head all week - because this is so where we are.
So, this morning, as I'm singing in my head, "Can't you see it's we who love this life?" on repeat in my head, I'm also throwing away one boy's lunch that he didn't finish the day before, because, yes, I'm the mom who most often is only cleaning up the table from the last meal when it's time to eat the next.
And, later, as I'm glad to finally have gotten all the munchkins their eggs and cereal and I'm ready to finally go nurse that precious baby who is fine with the Cheerios but would really like her Momma, I walk into the kitchen to see a gagging little boy who decided one man's trash was another man's treasure and had opted to ingest his brother's day-old lunch I had haphazardly dumped in the sink. And he's now regretting that decision and as I attempt to direct him over the trash can to spit it out, his body decides to be quicker about it and he's vomiting now on the kitchen rug. Not the tile that's easy to mop, but the one 2'x3' patch of wide kitchen floor that actually has any form of synthetic covering.
Meanwhile, hungry baby is now REALLY done with her empty high chair tray and is crying pretty angrily. And I have a three-year-old with vomit on his clothes and a beautiful mess to clean up on the floor. Boy is stripped, sent to wait for new clothes in his room and the floor is quickly cleaned, rug sprayed in the sink, hung to dry on the patio. I grab the baby on my way upstairs, so I can get to feeding her after quickly dressing her brother.
But the brother ended up vomiting further on the carpeted hallway and his underwear, the only remaining item of clothing from the earlier mess. And his only clean underwear is folded on the couch downstairs.
So, now naked boy is running for underwear while, with a baby on the hip, Momma is cleaning up vomit. And eventually setting the baby down while hoping she'll be so satisfied with the toy she found (which may or may not be a choking hazard because who can keep up with what gets left all over the floor by the older three?) that she won't feel the need to grab for the mess and you know you're running against a ticking time bomb - get it clean before she decides to crawl in it.
And before I know it, that mess is clean, that boy is dressed and the baby is settling in to nurse and that five crazy minutes of my morning is over. And I still have over five hundred to go before bed time.
And I'm still humming, "Don't you know it's we who love this life?"
Because we do.
Because while I was cleaning up vomit and finally going to nurse a baby girl, I could hear downstairs the two older ones contentedly reading through piles of library books. And I know that baby girl will be ready to play when she's done eating and will bless me with the most heart-melting grins. And that little boy, stomach now emptied of yesterday's disgusting leftovers, will be telling me silly stories and hurrying to look at the pictures over his siblings' shoulders.
And it's a crazy life, this mothering a herd, but it's also exciting, silly, snuggly, and full.
And I wouldn't trade it. Because sometimes I am overwhelmed by this life, but mostly it is such a blessing.