As I peck away at this article, I’m grateful to be pregnant with our third little bundle.

I’m over 20 weeks along, and the little blessing is thumping around in my burgeoning belly.

We already have two little boys who thump me daily.

So when the sonogram tech told us this third is also a boy, I lost it with a fit of giggles.

My husband, always collected, just silently grinned.

He need not say a word.

We both knew we are in for it. And of course, we are—we’re outnumbered, and we’re outnumbered by three boys that will be under age five.

I couldn’t stop laughing. I laughed the whole drive home. I’m still laughing as I write this.

Could it be denial? Could it be delirium? Could it be the hormones?

Whatever the cause, the thought of three ornery little boys has me undignified. Even before I can finish the foregoing sentence, a list of questions ping in my head.

Will we need to start a farm to feed these insatiable creatures?

Will our friends still hang out with us?

Will babysitters mysteriously become unavailable?

Will we ever own nice things again?

But really, all jokes aside—how do I feel, you ask?

I feel cocky, and I feel terrified.

Cocky could be shortsighted.

Terrified could be for good reason.

For moms preparing to birth a third child, this isn’t our first rodeo. We feel increasingly equipped with each new birth. We’ve gained confidence. We see the big picture. We know the discomfort in transition is only temporary. We expect chaos. We know the pendulum will swing back to a new normal. We appreciate different techniques, but we feel largely secure in our own preferences. We don’t question every single decision nor need affirmation at every bend.

Yes, I think we feel all of this.

But the one key difference with this transition to a third is my curious comfort with the crazy. Though I expected the crazy with the transition to two kids, I now know how the crazy transition actually looks.

Well, sort of.

The transition to three? It will be all the more crazy.

I know that there will be melt-downs and messes and fresh problems and less sleep.

I know I’ll be crunching around on spilled Cheerios for the next decade.

I know I’ll need another gallon of milk every week.

I know I’ll consume more caffeine than I do now.

I know I’ll need more dry shampoo.

I know I’ll need a trailer to haul our diaper supply. 

I know there will be fights and frustration and toddler regression.

I know our kids will outnumber our sets of hands, sets of ears, sets of eyes.

I know I will need every inch of God’s grace. 

I know it. 

I expect it.

At least, I think I do. 

But I also know we will adjust because I’ve seen us adjust before. I’ve seen us adjust with big bags under our eyes, but I’ve seen us adjust with big smiles too.

It’s hard. But the hard is meaningful.

It’s not always pretty. But even the ugly is beautiful. 

It’s messy. But the messy forces us to depend on God. 

So really, how do I feel about transitioning to three kids?

Equal parts terrified, because I know just how crazy the crazy can look.

Equal parts cocky, because I know God makes us capable. 

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