My biological clock hasn’t ticked in almost 4 years, but there I was, minding my own business, and POW it starts banging!! I heard it loud and clear … “What’s one more?” “It would be nice!” “Go for it!!” At first I laughed it off, but I couldn’t shake the idea from my head. Is this something I really want? How would it affect my children? Does Aaron want this too? My mind was reeling, so I made a list and did the math. My head and my heart started to pound when I realized that we could afford another baby. 

I allowed myself to dream, to fantasize, to imagine another little baby to hold and love and squeeze. Would it be a boy or a girl? I think a girl would fit nicely. What would I name her? Oh, the naming is the best part! Who would she look like? A mixture of all three would be nice… 

I made the mistake of confessing my secret desire to a few (hundred) people, and received mixed reviews. Some people said to go for it! Others insisted that I must be crazy. Is it because I already have 3 healthy, happy children? Would I be pushing my luck to try again? Is it because my children are so young? Can’t argue with that, but I’m on a roll, so why not keep it going! Is it the twin thing? It seems like people think once you have twins you would be nuts to have another, let alone 2 more. 

I will stop right here and say that I wont be having another baby. My tubes are tied and I know in my heart that our family is complete, but can someone please tell my uterus that?? I still have the urge, but I once had the urge to go jogging, and that hasn’t happened yet, so I think Im pretty safe!

I know when and where to pick battles when it comes to motherhood. I know what’s not worth fighting over in my relationship. I choose not to engage my friends when I feel as if I’m being baited. But I draw the line when it comes to my 3pm snack!

Our relationship until this point has been civil, a little co-dependant, but it works for us. We like to keep things simple; I slip in a dollar, it spits out my chips. No more, no less.

Today, that changed. I stuck my dollar in the slot, like I do every day; only today the machine taunted me. It spit the money back at me, and angrily flashed red. I tried again and again and again. Finally the machine accepted the bill, and I made my selection. The coils began to spin and that beautiful red bag began to move forward. Just millimeters before dropping, the machine stopped, and my chips dangled on the edge.

I started off with a gentle nudge, and then a firm shake, next, a hard shove! Is this pay back for having accepted a mangled dollar bill? I took a deep breath and shook the machine again. With each effort I’m getting more and more frantic, pausing only when I notice people walking by. (Wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m crazy!!)

Finally, I gave up and put another dollar into the machine (which, it gladly accepted!) and made the same selection. The coils turned again, freeing the first bag, then just as the second began to drop, it froze AGAIN! I had to stop and actually look around the room to see if this was a joke, and to check for witnesses.

I must say, I kicked that machines ass! I didn’t get my chips, and my knuckle is a little scraped, but I some how feel better! So good in fact, that I wrote a strongly worded letter to the vending machine man. I just hope he takes my hot pink post-it note seriously!

Tomorrow is my birthday! I’ll be turning 28, but plan to party like I’m 18 all over again! I realize that 28 is still young, but when you have had 3 babies in 2 years, old age creeps in on you, hard and fast! I’ve been feeling a little down about the whole thing… not about being a year older, but about feeling 20 years past my prime. The solution is simple; take one night to myself, where I can be Geri instead of Mommy, dress up, act wild, and enjoy myself.

Before I had children, I had a pretty exciting night life. My friends and I partied Thursday thru Sunday, hitting a different club each night. We’d wear short, short skirts and high, high heels…a far cry from the worn out jeans and sneakers that are my current uniform.

Back then, whenever I bought a new pair of shoes, I put them through “The Heel Test”. Wearing 4″ heels around the shoe store for 2 minutes, while you Ooo and Aahh about how sexy they make your legs look, is not a true measure of how practical these shoes are in real life. Just because you can walk the length of the store without snapping an ankle, does not mean that you can walk 6 blocks from the parking lot to the club, wait 20 minutes in line to get in, stand at the bar for another eternity, then dance the night away. My test was simple… I’d put the shoes on in my car, walk across the parking lot into my building, then up 3 flights of stairs to my apartment. If I could make it to the front door without crying, the shoes made the cut. If not, I would kindly slip them off, put them back in the box and return them to the store. I liked to be sexy, but nothing was worth losing a toe.

Life has changed since then, but nevertheless, the new shoes that I bought yesterday needed to undergo a test. I figured that if I could cook dinner, wash the dishes and bathe the kids, all while wearing 4″ heels, I could do anything! And so it began…. 5 minutes into “The Test”, my toes went numb, a few minutes later my ankle buckled, and I got shooting pains in my arches, as I squatted at the edge of the tub.

This is not good. The shoes failed, and miserably! Now I’m faced with a dilemma. I can either return them, in exchange for a pair of blah black ballet flats, or suck it up, put on my brave face and wear the sexy shoes, even though they make my eyes water with every step.

I’m going for the latter! I’m going to live it up, and pay for it later. It’s only one day… my birthday!

There are many aspects of my life in which I am on point 100% of the time. For instance, you will never catch my children leaving the house looking disheveled or uncoordinated. I iron their clothes every morning and match the girls’ panties to their outfits. However, to say that I take short cuts, and am unorganized in other areas, is an under statement.  

·     I never carry a diaper bag, and when I do there are almost never any diapers in it. Nor would you find a change of clothes, medicine or anything else useful for that matter.

·     I don’t have a single band-aid in the house. If the kids get a cut I rush around with paper towels, toilet paper and baby wipes. If the bleeding persists, I pretend to be frantic and suggest going to the ER. By the time they have “convinced” me not to bring them, the bleeding has stopped.

·     Sometimes “bath night” consists of a baby wipe and a bottle of lotion.

·     Breakfast = Banana. Don’t like it? Learn to cook!

·     There are only 2 times on my clock… Before Nap and After Nap.

·     I’ve been known to buy new socks and underwear for the entire family, just to avoid laundry for another week.  

And you know what??? I’m not even ashamed! I may have a full time job, but my real work doesn’t begin until I get home. I am over worked, and under paid and have more children than I have hands. But I am blessed to be this stressed and am damn proud of my frazzled life.  

My children do everything “big”. They laugh loud, play rough, fight hard, love a lot, and talk too much. I see it as our personal perfection. My mother sees it as pay back!

There is a saying in my family that generations of mothers have uttered through gritted teeth, while battling their heathen children… “May you have one just like you!”

These words never held much meaning to me, because if you were to ask me to describe what I was like as a child, I would tell you that I was sweet and smart, painfully shy, very lovable, not to mention extremely cute! Who wouldn’t want to have a child just like me?? Until yesterday, I believed that this is what everyone thought. Thanks to my mother, those delusions have been dashed.

The kids and I spent the previous evening at her house for dinner. During the 2 hours we were there, Silas screamed if I was more than 3 feet from him, Saniya got in trouble for swinging a giant toy over her head, endangering the lives of the entire house, and Saadia blamed her imaginary friend for everything that she did wrong that night… so pretty normal! Normal for us, that is. I no longer notice what my mother describes as their “strong personalities”.

According to her, each of my children displays one of my childhood quirks. Saniya is defiant, and bold. She will look you right in the eye and do exactly the opposite of what you just asked. She pushes her limits (and my patience) right to the edge, but knows exactly when to pull back and fly right. Saadia is a story teller by nature, and will have you believing the sky is purple, if you’re not careful. I’ve learned that any story that begins with “My friend…” is absolutely false. Silas is always right there, in the midst of the chaos, just watching. At home he is brave and independent but isn’t quite bold enough to make his own moves when other people are around.

Imagine if all of those qualities were rolled into one child. What would you get if you had a shy, yet defiant child, who tested everyone, never gave a straight answer, but knew her own limits? You’d probably get someone like me, and thank God when she’s all grown up and out of your house, and laugh at the fact that she now has three children who are just like her. I know my mother is!