This afternoon I had my first sensation of ARGH THERE ARE THREE OF THEM!! Thankfully it has passed quickly, but nevertheless... Another day with some thoughts that I don't like to put out there, but feel dishonest pretending don't exist... So here is our afternoon in technicolour.
Rowan was out of the sling, sticky-hot and thirsty. There was nowhere to sit to nurse her and she was starting to make those fretful kitten noises that were going to turn into crying at any moment. Martin had popped back into a shop to grab that last forgotten item of shopping, and so I was alone with three for the first time.
Then Morgan made a break for the top of the escalators, and I grabbed her literally at that last second before she tried to get down the up stairs (visions of her going headlong). Rowan started to howl. (Have I mentioned that this baby has no middle-key? She's either OK or hysterical, there is no initial testing cry apart from the grunty kitteny sound!) Then Jenna, skipping around in circles, ran into a guy holding a cup of coffee.
There's me. Hips agonising after a couple of hours errand-running, after hubby not wanting me to tag along was overruled by me wanting to be back to normal. Leaking milk because Rowan is hysterical and has been asleep for three hours. Feeling exhausted and with that post-adrenalin dip after rescuing Morgan from experimentation with moving stairs. Holding a screaming baby in one arm, and with the other hand, gripping a shrieking twisting octopus-toddler by the wrist. I shout, "Jenna STOP!" She collides with man's ankles anyway. He lifts his drink clear and avoids scalding her (or himself), darts a black look at me and tuts, and walks on. Jenna hides behind a plant pot because I raised my voice.
I cried all the way home. With Jenna sitting besides me saying, "You know you are a really good mummy, it's OK, we're all OK..." :(