Friday, May 8, 2015

A Letter To My Disenfranchised Fourth Child

Susan extracts her fourth child from the bassinet she made from Sprite bottles.

Afternoon Readers,

Ahh, motherhood. There's something about it that makes you feel dusty and old, but also young and completely strung out. In my case, my right eye tends to twitch a lot, but to each her own.

This weekend's impending holiday doesn't give me an enormous amount of pause. Mostly because Mother's Day is also the twin's fifth birthday, and when birthdays are involved, we all know what My Little Pony/ Spider Man cake takes center stage. Then again, I might break under the weight of some sort of pregnancy-induced mental breakdown and write "Happy Mother's Day!" right across a pony's face. The weekend sits nigh, ripe with possibilities.

Tough to beat, but what I've been reflecting on more this week than cake or presents, is actually the newest Kellerman.   

Sleeping arrangements?
A homing device?

My brain keeps clicking over a potential checklist of things and coming up with... absolutely nothing. So I thought it best to write a letter of explanation to our newest member, in order to minimize bitterness and maximize feelings of apathy towards us as the years go on.

A Letter To My Disenfranchised Fourth Child

Dear Fourth Child,

I hope you're finding the stay accommodating. Don't worry about making yourself comfortable. My ab muscles were dismantled by your brother and sister in 2010, so feel free to do yoga, pilates, or use any spare space to build one of those quaint side cart coffee bars. I won't even feel it.

I'm writing today to apologize. I'm afraid you won't find much waiting for you when you head towards the light. I take that back. There'll be a ton of people there, unlimited pudding, and nurses who wait on you incessantly. I meant more the part where we draw a name out of hat and take you home.

(Totally kidding. We'll have a name ready for you. I think. At the very least, I'll let the drugs wear off before I pick this time. Don't ever let anyone tell you you're not special.)

Here's the deal. You're literally getting nothing new. 

What's "new"?

Simply put, when something's new, it smells like no one's licked it, picked at it, or died in it. Haha.. no, no one's died in any of your stuff. That we know of. At any rate, you'll have plenty of clothes, possibly not gender specific, but clothes nonetheless. Sleepers, t-shirts, onsies that say, "First grandchild!" You name it, we got it.

Your dad and I talked about it, and I'm also pleased to say you're getting the crib that's only fifty-percent covered in teeth marks. Get excited, because it's gonna look fab with the hand-me-down sheets and crib music box that plays "Can You Feel Love Tonight", if you hit it hard enough.

Unfortunately, there was a list of items we had to delete this time around. Call it experience or overconfidence. I'll let you pick when you learn to talk and pick my nursing home:

Diaper Genie
Heated Wipes (Kidding... We never had those. You'll be as cold as everyone else.)
Toys - Hurry to the toy room before everyone else gets there. And may the odds be ever in your favor.
Shoes - Hahahahahahahahahahaha.... eh em.
Changing table - I discovered this thing called "the floor" last year. Life and Style just named it this year's breakfast nook.
Shampoo/baby oil/lotion set - Hold out your hand and I'll give you a dollop of Nivea

What we will have for you is lots of love. By far, we're getting better and better at multiplying it from the bottom of our cold hearts. Oh, and I promise you get a new car seat. Some of the other kids volunteered to hold you while the car was moving, but five-year-olds drop things, so.

Are you excited?! We're excited. So just stretch out and relax. I'm off to figure out if the Baby Bjorn is still holding the back door to the van shut.


Your Mom

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