THE moment

Ever experience that "moment of no return" feeling at a theme park or county fair? You know. Your friends were all hyped up about this new ride that leaves your legs dangling, throws you through a series of fire rimmed hoops, shoots you into the air at an acceleration speed of 0 to 150 mph in 4 seconds, before dropping you 289 stories into a lake of dirty theme park water. You foolishly heaved the last bite of funnel cake into your mouth and followed along. At first it didn't really register, after all, that line was about 2 hours long and you were so appalled by the sight of that bikini clad twelve year old prostitot and her twenty six year old boyfriend making out that you didn't take much time to really study the insane physics behind the steel death machine towering over you. Then suddenly that last turn in the line is rounded and you find yourself next in line. Your heart starts pounding, the funnel cake in your stomach starts making demands you'd rather not meet in public, and you start desperately hoping that if you stare at the main Carnie in charge long enough he will spontaneously combust and the ride will be shut down. But alas, the line moves on. It's too late now. No turning back. You shuffle in behind your stupid friends and can't help but feel like you should be bleating and covered in thick wool. Your stomach continues to churn while you wait for that metal vice to come down over your head and shoulders. It descends with a heavy thud and a breath taking weight. Your shoulders are now pinned at an uncomfortable angle; your legs, wrapped around that very weird seat with the giant ass groove and awkward saddle horn, all combine to leave you feeling quite certain that if the physics fail and something catches fire, you are crispy toast history. The massive padding around the vice envelops your head so thoroughly you can no longer see your friends faces, or even turn your neck for that matter, which is just as well, your eyes will be squeezed so tightly the whole time anyway that your corneas will be in danger of slipping out. Then the floor gives way and your insides feel that first small lurch forward...

That feeling. Got it? Great.

I'm really happy about this next baby. But today, somewhere in between the potty training of the two year old and the forced feeding of broccoli to the enraged one year old, I got that "moment of no return" feeling. It wasn't awesome.

I thought, right now I have two kids and two hands. If it ever came down to it, I have one hand for each kid. Whether to pull them apart or hoist them up, I can handle it. But 32 or 34 weeks from now, I'll have three kids. I am pretty sure I won't be growing an extra arm during my pregnancy since I have never been known to spontaneously grow additional appendages. And so I have to wonder...which one of the kids will be stuck in the vice grip of my legs when my arms are full and things get out of control? Also of great importance: when will I ever get the chance to pee during the day when there are three kids in the living room, each experimenting with bungee jumping off the couch sans bungee? What happens at the grocery store when I have a long list of items to purchase and I must simultaneously Mr. Miyagi my way through the store as six tiny arms try to knock things off the shelves, which I will then have to catch mid-air at a mind blowing speed and with stunning accuracy?

I can just hear the Bear's voice as I type this... "Uh-ooooooo."

The "moment of no return" feeling didn't last long, thank God. I gave myself a quick pep talk along the lines of...

Nothing you give birth to will ever be as bad as you were when you were a kid. REMEMBER, they have at least 50% J in them and that is your saving grace. Besides, anything they come up with you have probably already done before...so you got this!

That little pep talk always makes me feel better for myself and a little more sorry for my own mother.

But either way, this does present an opportunity to kick parenting ass a la' Lucille Ball in Yours, Mine and Ours. Not in the "I want to become a widow with 8 children so I can marry an old sea captain with 10 children" but more along the lines of "breakfast for an army? fresh laundry? homework help? wonderful parenting advice? freshly painted nails after I just squeezed out my last kid? amazingly organized room assignment chart? christmas shopping for 20? AND I have no maid? Coming right up suckers! BOOYAH!" Yeah, more like that.

Realistically, I am not supermom, not even close. Lucy is amazing in that movie and I love her sense of humor throughout, but I won't ever be that kind of supermom. I can manage to keep my house in order and I kiss my kids every chance I get. I love them to pieces and even if this job does feel scary at times, I wouldn't trade it for any other. I love being a mom...even if the twists, turns and death defying drops are becoming increasingly loud, expensive, and not to mention, starting to steal funnel cake from my plate at an alarming rate.