Saturday, May 8, 2010

On the Fifth Child

I followed all "THE" books with my first child. Breastfed until 14 months. No sugar. Educational Mommy & Me classes. Organic baby food. Childproofed home. Select playdates. Germ-free existence. Well-chosen books and music for enrichment. Daily baths. Flossed teeth. Brushed teeth! And absolutely NO TV!

My firstborn loved to memorize Scripture. She quoted the entire chapter of Luke's Nativity story at Christmastime as a three year old.

I had four more kids.

Otherwise I would have been insufferable. "See, all you need to do is be consistent and parenting isn't so hard." Intolerable. I want to slap me back then.

My fifth is three years old.

Peter came out this week wearing this: he had a Norwegian flag, a Robin Hood hat, a medieval breastplate and a grin. He said, and I quote:

"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

With a perfect Spanish accent.

He's seen The Princess Bride, his Daddy's favorite movie, just a few times.

At least I am not a smug momma anymore. The only thing I know after all these kids is that I don't know diddly-squat.

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