Three is the New Two

Have you heard? Word on the street is that three is the new two.

In my circle, it definitely feels that way. I hang out with mostly mamas, and most people I see on a day to day basis don't bat an eye at a woman with a kid in each hand and another tied to the front of her body.

But when I venture out beyond the comfy walls of my little subculture, I encounter a variety of reactions. Smiles, stares, looks of disgust or amusement.

I'm not the only one. My girlfriend and mother to three commented that "People look at me as if I don't know how to use birth control!" As if no sane or educated woman would choose to have three small children.

I don't usually feel that way, but there are days. The other week we were playing outside when I saw some neighbors down the road. I thought it would be fun to head over and say hello.

We get over and the boys start messing around in the yard. I'm trying to pop into the conversation, and as usual, I have my eye on the boys. I start talking, turn around, "No pushing", turn back, the conversation has moved on.

I try to listen to my neighbor's story. "Boys! Play gently please. Be careful. That's not a toy!" And this time the neighbors are looking. Embarrassed for me? Annoyed? How rude of those children to interrupt the adults, right?

Oh, I forgot. Grownups used to have uninterrupted conversations. I kind of forgot about those.

So I warn the boys. If you keep wrestling at the neighbor's we will have to go home.
I try again to talk with the grownups (who are now essentially ignoring me as if I, too, am a neighbor child clamoring for attention). And then Owen plows Eli down and Eli shrieks as if his heart (or bones) are breaking.

"Alright! That's it! We're going home."

"Rough day at the office?" my neighbor remarks sarcastically. First thing he said to me the entire three minutes I'd been standing there.

And then it began to feel tiring. I was seeing myself the way others see me, and I didn't like it. I wanted to yell - It's not always like this! We have fun. I enjoy being home with my kids. It's not just something to endure. Don't feel sorry for me!

I walked home fuming. At the boys. At my neighbor. At myself. I didn't realize how much stake I put in the way others saw me. I was so used to feeling that people got it. That having three kids under six was really no big deal. That I am a multifaceted person who can think and speak and listen and contribute to conversations about grad school or careers (I have been there), not just as a stay-at-home mom with three crazy boys.

But other days make up for it. Some days you get a pat on the back when you're least expecting it. Like the time some random people walked past and smiled as they watched me playing soccer with Owen while wearing Axel in the sling while throwing the frisbee for the dog while talking Eli down from the height of a tantrum. "Now that's multitasking," he said with a smile. It hadn't occurred to me. I was just doing what we do.

Or the time at the grocery store when I was just doing my best to get us all through without a meltdown and a stranger stopped me to say, "I just want you to know you're doing a wonderful job."

Those are days that I'm glad to see myself the way others see me. Because when I'm in the moment, playing with the boys, feeding them, caring for them, guiding them, running interference or damage control; when I'm in it, it doesn't feel tiring. A little chaotic, yes. A little crazy at times, of course.

But it's my job. My wonderful, chaotic, crazy, rewarding job. And I love it.