Three Is a Magic Number

By Veronica

There is something about having three kids. Having one was hard; that sudden switch from non-parent to parent exhausts everybody who experiences it. Two had its challenges; I could no longer focus on meeting the needs of just one kid. Everything had to be shared. But three. Three was a whole new ballgame.

I could no longer carry all my children when there were three of them. If one of them ran off at the park, I had to leave one behind me to chase her down. Strollers and baby-carriers became even more indispensable.

They no longer all fit in my lap. One leg per kid did not adequately distribute the supply of kids. Reading aloud became an exercise in selective exclusion. Somebody had to stand or – gasp! – sit NEXT TO Mama instead of ON Mama.

Coordinating naps became more difficult, and keeping the other kids healthy when one was sick became nearly impossible. The home was noisier, the demands more constant, the disagreements more likely.

But the biggest change for me was in my temper. Until I had three, I still clung to illusion that I could control my temper by controlling my circumstances. I thought I could make my life conform to a certain order, and avoid the things that frustrated or enraged me. It didn’t work, of course, but when I only had two kids, I could tell myself if I just tried harder, I could MAKE it work.

Three removed such illusions.

Even before my third child was born, I knew I had to change. I spent much of my third pregnancy praying, “Help me not be so angry all the time.” My third baby proved to be my most demanding child. She has a definite sense of how her life should go, and she storms and hollers and tantrums if it does not.

Have I mentioned she also looks the most like me?

So three kids became my crucible. I began to change. I am still changing, but I can already see where my character has reformed. I tell my husband when he has hurt my feelings, rather than storming at him inexplicably. I accept childish help at household tasks, even though it takes longer. I even ask for it. I allow messier activities. I no longer expect stillness and quiet from my kids in public. Instead, I am the center of a small maelstrom of children, and as long as the maelstrom moves along with me, I’m okay with it. I have become one of those strangely competent, unapologetic mothers who is comfortable with my kids acting like kids.

For me, these changes happened in earnest when I had three. I now have four, and though having a newborn throws a wrench into any routine, I don’t notice the same drastic changes this time around. But I wonder: for those of you with larger families, is there some similar change you notice when you have the fifth or seventh child? When you meet other moms of many, do you all nod your heads knowingly and say, “Well, he IS the sixth child”?

Because I hear from many parents that the third child changed things. My sister says, “With one or two kids, they join your life. With three or more kids, you join theirs.” That brought a great change for me in expectations and in my own behavior. I am delighted at how it has contented me.

I think maybe three really is a magic number.

Veronica, mother of only four, regularly blogs at Toddled Dredge.