When my family first moved to Evanston we were part of a Mom's Sanity Group (er, play group) that had a variety of different types of mamas and babies in it.  We would rotate where we met each week which served the purpose of letting all of us know that no one else had figured out how to keep things clean while parenting at the same time, either.

One family had made it a well-known rule to their family and friends that they only would accept wooden, Montessori-type toys for their child.

I loved this.  I loved that everything they had was beautiful. (Their floor was also entirely covered in rice grains, but that's a different story.)  I loved that they had no reservations about figuring out exactly what they wanted for their kid, and then sticking to it and enjoying the pay-off.  Oh, both guts and glory! How wonderful.

I was that way about some things, too. (My husband might say about a lot of things.)  When our #2 came along there was a period of internal iron against iron, trying to maintain my self-created utopia while also doing double - no, triple! - the parenting, followed by a dramatic tumbling to the bottom and finalized by finding a new, lower-bar steady-state. [Read: Who cares if it's made out of lead, just keep this kid from eating the baby!]

When #3 came it was similar, though it consisted of less iron (thank goodness) and a lower bar (eh, oh well).

I don't know exactly what I'm trying to tell you here, except that we parents change over the course of our parenting.  Whether you have one kid or eight, things will change and you will change.  You might be tempted to look back at your old self and say, "Oh what an idealist I was!" or "Oh, what a nervous parent I was!" or whatever it is that you were, and mourn a little bit.  Or, you might feel pulled to lament your current lack of perfection as you juggle your increasing kids/responsibilities/ideals.  

I'm slowly embracing the fact that I don't have to do either of those things.  Where I was at served me well then, and where I'm at now serves me well, also.  "Change" and "difference" do not equate to "better than" and "worse than".

So, there you go.  Go be the best parent you are able to be, and enjoy the heck out of it.

We have a busy household; I'm sure you do, too.  No matter the number of kids, jobs, and pets there is always a steady stream of chaos waiting to be brought back into equilibrium.  And then there are the things that sit on the back burner, that constitute our buckets lists, and that fill the quadrants of our urgent and important charts.

Life, as we live it, is busy.

Sometimes the business is comforting. It's nice getting all the laundry put away, even if it took all week to get there and tomorrow we'll start over again. Bustling my kids to and from swim lessons is rewarding especially on days when I'm pretty sure the only other contribution I've made to their lives is fodder for therapy.

But occasionally I find myself in a rare mind space where there is nothing that has to be done.  No meeting to attend, no placenta to encapsulate, no paperwork to sort. All of a sudden, I realize that nothing feels as significant as getting to mom.

(Hypothetically speaking, of course.)

You just had your third baby.  And by "just" you really mean months ago.  But, it's been icy and snowy and cold and... stuff, and so you find yourself venturing out for a walk with ALL THE CHILDREN for the first time.

Oh, the first time.  Scary?  Exciting? 

Overwhelming.

You are still many, many minutes from when you have agreed to be at a certain place.  You are also many, many minutes from convincing yourself that this is going to happen.

You change the meeting place, going for something a bit more realistic.  (Nice move.)

You make a mental check list of all that must be done: travel arrangements, diaper bag, teeth brushed (yours, not theirs), get dressed (you again, not them).

Then, you pare it down: veto the cloth diapers.  Veto the clothes change (your pjs look like your clothes look like your pjs look like your clothes... this is acceptable for at least the first six months, yes?  Please say yes, oh please say yes.)  Crank on the screen to keep the kids settled while you settle yourself.

After what seems like years, you and your little ones make your Grand Exit; or rather, your Grand Entrance into the world as a mother with her three darlings, appearing for the very first time!  

You take a deep breath and head on your way.  You've made it*.

(Hypothetically speaking, you are also two minutes early which is a true, low-and-behold miracle not to be discounted. Hallelujah.)

(*This refers to this day only.  You still have 18 years ahead of.  Sigh.  And, Hallelujah!)