The Craziness of Raising Three Girls

Before I begin, I would like to give a big shout-out to my hubs, Bryce, for talking some sense into me when I said I wanted four kids. Because you know we would have ended up with four girls. That's just how we roll around here; we don't make boys.

So, life has been kind of crazy around here lately. You've got a mama who not only is busy with church stuff/life/chai tea, but has also been welcomed back into that world of monthly I-want-to-kill-something-and-then-eat-a-ton-of-chocolate-don't-tell-me-I'm-overreacting-oh-so-now-I'm-fat episodes.

Don't forget the four year-old who knows everything AND apparently became a mother herself, since most of her time is spent parroting phrases that only a parent should use (especially in times of distress); a two year-old who thinks she runs the house; and a 9 month-old who has a split personality.

Bryce is Bryce. No change there, thank goodness for that. I'm sure there's days he wishes he had been sterile 0r gay. Or both.

This is how I felt last week:



And I wasn't even on my period yet.

But I love my girls. Even when I feel like strangling them, I remember how much I love them. And they still love me too.

After all, according to Piper, "You're my bestest Mom ever."

I heart you, Piper.
Now go back to your room.