O Boy

A few weeks ago the Bear made one of his observations.

“Mom…I fink…you look like the letter ‘O’ a little bit.”

Back then it was a bit more endearing to me and I felt proud (as always) of my little observer.

Today we took the morning off to go grocery shopping. We are now a preschool on wheels. We learn on the way to the store and when we arrive, we try to select a shopping cart in which all three children can sit closely together so that we can talk about everything around us. (Of course this rule is struck down if the shopping cart with the attached race car is available).

We learn about farming, colors, numbers, order, communities, cultures, etc. The boys are always full of questions and answers, which can be directed at me or anyone around us. As you can imagine, we attract some attention.  For example, this morning when the Bear pointed to the sausages on display and shouted, “Excuse me Butcher, are those South African Sea worms or Pig GUTS? I don’t like to eat PIG GUTS. YUCK!” ... we got a lot of laughs.

Today’s trip also included six different women stopping to ask me about my children. What are their ages? How do you do it? Are you having another boy? 

At times we get unasked for advice like have you ever thought of stopping after three children? Did you ever try shopping bulk since you have so many children? 


It takes a long time for us to finish at the store. Between all the talking and learning and strangers stopping us to talk, sometimes we are in the store for close to two hours. Years ago, I would have broken out in hives over that. But these days, a few hours with my kids safely restrained in a cart…ain’t such a bad deal!

And yet today, as we neared the hour and fifteen minute mark, my lower back started aching. The baby was shifting restlessly against my ribcage.  The boys were asking yet again why soy beans are bad for their “gonie knackers” (their name for testicles). Babe was insisting on taking off one of his crocs and sucking on it every time I turned my back. A random lady had stopped us five minutes before to simply state “PREGNANT with THREE boys??? Oh honey, you look exhausted.” Thanks for the pep talk lady.

By the time Cubby starts singing classical music using only the word “chicken,” I decide we have gotten enough off our list. I can grab one or two more things for J and then we can make our exit. There is no way I could last another forty five minutes in the store (which by the way is under construction and complete chaos at the moment) I start heading for the last aisle. There is a slight traffic jam leading into the “ethnic” section. But Cub’s favorite taco night calls and so I wait patiently with our extra long cart, the boys kicking the back of the bench in which they are seated. Three or four other mothers with their children are waiting next to me. We start chatting about the construction and our kids. I start to relax a bit and think to myself, hmm…I could handle a few minutes of peaceful adult conversation.


OF COURSE, the Bear chooses this moment to say, “Mom you are HUGE-MUNGUS right now. You look like a big big big letter ‘O.’ You are the biggest Mom I have ever seen. Is the baby ever going to FINALLY come out of your butt?”

Huge sigh.

Oh man.

Of course, I get teary. Which makes me feel stupid. I am not an emotional person at all and would normally laugh something like that off... and yet, these months of compounded stress and exhaustion are catching up to me and I can feel those tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Plus, I AM huge. I look like I swallowed a watermelon whole. There are no muscles left in my abdomen to hold up a baby all cute and compact. I look like the farmer’s wife that births a baby every spring. This bump is REAL folks and it is no picnic.

The other mommies are looking at me with compassion and pity, except for one who is smothering a giggle behind her hand.

Cubs and the Bear are looking at me with open curiosity.

Cubs asks loudly, “Mom, are you CRYING???”

“Nope. Nope. Nope. Mommy is fine.” I manage to say.

Screw taco night…I am getting out of here!


We back away from the ethnic food section and make tracks for the check out counter.

As always, Cubs eyes are a magnet right towards the busty ladies on the magazine covers.

“Wook Mom, wook at her big boobs! Does she have a baby?”

Another huge sigh.

We make it to the car. I unload all three kids and ten thousand bags of groceries. I put away the cart, get into the drivers seat and let my head thunk onto the steering wheel.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Are you ok?”

“I am ok.”

“Mom….I wuv you.”

“I love you too.”

“I wuv you too, Mom. Don’t forget, I wuv you too.”

“Thanks to you too, honey.”

and then the smallest voice pipes out…

“Me too. Me too. Mommy.”

This big fat exhausted letter ‘O’ loves her nosy, curious, observant babies…very very much.