If I decide to take a shower, it’s safe to assume that the *very* moment the water starts running, one of my children will have to use the bathroom or will need to ask me 3,400 questions or will even feel called to hop right into the shower with me.
If I sit on the couch—or actually literally any surface at all—there’s gonna be a little heinie in my lap pretttty quickly.
If when I’m sleeping, I decide to try to take up my fair share of space in our bed—it may be tough for me because there’s likely a small child curled up on me.
If I’m eating, they will take what’s on my plate or sit directly on top of me, essentially acting as a food block from me and my precious sustenance.
If my hair is down, they take that as a signal for them to start playing with it, yanking it, brushing it, “braiding it” (twisting it into knots), “making it pretty”…
If even a hint of cleavage is showing, my breastfeeding 14-month-old runs like the wind to pull down my shirt and latch right on.
If my almost 3-year-old sees me putting on my robe, she asks if she can come inside it with me. Literally. I close it around her and tie it under her and it acts like a robe/carrier. (Don’t try that at home.)
Almost every second of the day, someone is touching me. And that can feel like a lot with three small humans—especially when I’m exhausted or my anxiety is running high or my hormones are all out of whack.
But honestly, today, right after we took this picture—Natalie jumped on my lap, too, and I started singing “all my babies, all my babies, allll my babieeees on my lap” to the tune of “oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’ Clementine” and they were LOVING every second of it. Like, eating it right up. They were giggling and singing with me and it was just one of those small, simple moments when I was like— “yep… this is awesome”—no matter how many peeps are up in my grill 24/7. 🤪