I may be mad. I may have totally lost my grip on my sanity. I was only clawing on to it desperately anyway. Sooner or later, my fingers were bound to slip from the edge of normality and send me plummeting into the Land of Bonkers. There is no other way out, apparently. After pregnancy eats all your grey cells, babies deaden the mind with crying and sleep deprivation. Then toddlers finish the job with tantrums and potty training so that by the time they’re at school they’re teaching you a thing or two.
This loss of my grip on sanity must be why the De La Soul classic, Three is the Magic Number means so much to me at the moment. I mean, most of the lyrics are ridiculous. No thank you, I won’t ‘Stop, look and listen to the phrasin’ Fred Astaires’. And I simply don’t have time to ‘Dance to this fix and flex every muscle’ because I am, frankly, too knackered. But, on further examination, there is actually something to this song. Who knew that De La Soul were actually on to something here?
Three IS a magic number, especially in this family. We are going to have a magical third baby. A new life, a new soul, a new heart to love. Like the lyrical giants say, ‘without my 1 and 2 where would I be?’
Almost seven years ago, I became a mother. When my daughter (The One Who Goes to School) was born, my life changed beyond all recognition. Ok, so poo and sick and boobs were perfectly acceptable conversations over dinner, but it wasn’t all hard work. Babies have a knack of turning on the charm just when you feel your patience is ebbing away and perhaps it is a good idea to run away after all. Just when you reach that point, babies will do something adorable, like smile or giggle. Darn those babies. Especially my babies. They’re so cute.
Now she’s older and we have The Difficult Second Child too, I’m a changed person again. My son was a little more difficult to love, if I’m honest. But that’s not to say I don’t love him fiercely now. I even think the hard times have made me love him more. And I’m about to change again, aren’t I? There’s going to be a new set of baby shoes on the shoe rack and a new set of house rules. Three. No more, no less, that’s the magic number.