Rosie is on the floor next to me playing with toys.
Henry and Maggie are laying behind me, on the unmade guest bed, watching Netflix on my iPad, and eating Cheerios straight from the bag.
I tell you all this, because it feels like a meaningful preface to a post about how adding a third kid to the family means that I ignore my kids a LOT more.
Okay, okay, maybe not IGNORE, but Henry and Maggie have had a significantly more self-entertainment time recently. And Rosie has gotten more tummy time than both of my first two kids, put together. (tummy time: put baby on a blanket with toys. leave baby there until she protests loudly or is swimming in her own spitup.)
For the most part, I think it's been good for them. While I've ignored them, they've really focused on improving themselves.
Maggie has begun her career as a fledgling architect.
With a little help from her big brother, of course.
Henry has taken up a career in photography.
As well as a career in... archery? Dartery?
Margaret has begun to hone her own mothering skills.
And Rosie's tummy time, well, in addition to being an excellent core-building activity, that usually ends up being whole-family entertainment as well.
And me? Well, I'd love to be able to tell you that while I've been ignoring my offspring, I've been doing some really fabulous things, like learning a foreign language, writing a novel, planting a beautiful garden, or showering regularly.
But, mostly, I've just been doing a LOT of laundry. Occasionally cleaning. Sometimes cooking. More often reheating leftovers. Packing lunches and finding missing sneakers. And, of course, writing this blog post.