There is no doubt that there is a ton of love in being a parent. At any moment, I can be found snapping photograph after photograph of my twins for the sole purpose of filling your Facebook newsfeed. But, sometimes I don’t think I am cut out for having multiples. I’m not kid-shaming anyone. I didn’t even plan on revealing how many children I have, but you can tell by the millions of photos that I have three. Maybe it was the blessed third after the twins who made me hit kid capacity, but I am definitely in over my head over here. I can’t be the only parent to feel this way, right? These are normal thoughts for any parent, right? Especially us with the twins, triplets and more?
Here are four signs you may have too many kids.
You have given up on calling your kids by their birth names.
Throughout the day, I will eff up my children’s names over and over again until I am left saying “You! The one in trouble!” From calling them by their sibling’s name to making some weird combination name as I try to register in my short-circuiting brain which kid I am actually yelling at. There are times I even go into this weird deep Southern racism style of calling them “Boy”.
“Boy! I dun told you to get off that table three times now!”
I have never even been deep South.
You’ve let yourself go.
I am not talking about having gained an excess amount of weight. I mean, these extra pounds weren’t always here but now they provide warmth in the winter. I am saying you stopped caring about the possibility of ending up on sites like People of Walmart. The stains on your sweatpants don’t even register anymore. You’ve become stain-blind, as you haul whatever-their-names are through the store in a sleep-deprived trail of children’s tears drudge to the milk section.
Sometimes your hair looks super shiny though, from all those days you’ve spent not washing it.
You can’t remember what the floor of your car looks like.
I remember before I hit lucky number way-too-many-kids and could see the floor of my car. It wasn’t this sea of crushed Goldfish and possibly fermented juice boxes. I used to try to actively clear the floor before it developed its own ecosystem. Then, I realized I could never keep up with the mess. It’s not like I don’t clean the car at all – I will clear things out because it seems that every other day I have to dive into the great unknown for a missing shoe. But, no matter how many time I don a hazmat suit and hit the vacuums at the car wash, the mess seems to intensify. The mess is living. The Mess, it is angry.
It has its own ecosystem.
Somewhere in your house is a mountain of laundry.
Mount Laundraminjarro. Where all clothes go to lie unwashed. We once dedicated a weekend in our house to doing laundry and conquering the mountain. Nine loads in, I found a shirt I hadn’t seen in three years. I also found clothes my twins don’t even fit in anymore. The mountain, which used to be known as a pile, continues to grow. We have gotten used to the obscenely high water bill, learning to become deaf to the constant hum of washer and dryer in the background.
I love my children. I would even go as far as to say I love them all equally some days. I am sure some will point out how they have four, five, six kids to my three. Just because we don’t have our own baseball team doesn’t make it any easier to get through the day. So, while my Facebook feed is filled with laughter and love, there are some days I am hiding in Mount Laundraminjarro.
Briton Underwood, better known as Punk Rock Papa, is a parent above all else. When he gets sick of being at his kids’ beck and call, he likes to escape to his Facebook page or website. He writes about any and everything he wants, but mainly about his twin boys or his newest addition—another boy. He also would like the world to know he has a beautiful wife because the couch isn’t that comfy.