A wise parent once told me that the easiest number of kids to deal with was “one fewer than however many kids you have.” It’s not the smoothest statement, but it is so true–if you have three kids, going out with two is a piece of cake, and so on.
My new addition, even less smooth, is that the easiest number of kids to deal with is one less than the number of kids you wish you didn’t have. Actually, I think that doesn’t work at all, but what I mean is this: Four kids, back when I was rueing the day we ever even considered adopting, was TOO MANY. It was UNBEARABLE. It was HARD.
And four kids, now that I gaze upon our last addition with pride, brag to everyone about how well she’s doing, and generally can’t imagine life without her, is fine. It’s dandy. It’s easy-peasy. Not every day, maybe, but I’m constantly marveling, at the end of an experience that once would have been like going through a wringer–a solo night and breakfast, say, or dinner out, or taking them all to the store–at how easy and drama free it was. Yes, they’re getting older. Yes, Rory’s adjusting, with fewer tantrums and less general unpredictability. But I think most of the change is in me.
And it feels really, really good. Like banging your head against a wall, just to feel it stop. I am so glad to be where we are.