There are two common schools of thought about the transition from two kids to three kids. One school of thought says, “You feel like you’re drowning, and then someone hands you a baby.” The other school of thought says, “What’s one more? It’s a piece of cake!” Happily, perhaps due to the personality of the child we got, or perhaps due to the fact that the older two of our now-three children already had a sibling relatively close in age to begin with, we seem to have pitched our proverbial tent slightly closer to the second camp. While I wouldn’t describe it as a piece of cake, it has certainly been significantly less taxing than the 1-2 transition was for us.

That said, it has already had some more entertaining moments, to describe it charitably. Take, for example, the first time I went adventuring with all three by myself. We decided to go visit the “birds’ house,” as we’ve come to call it - the local wildlife sanctuary where there are miles of trails and birds that will eat out of your hand. We’ve gone there many, many times, and the kids love it. This particular day, I fed Charlie while issuing commands like a dictator to Elise and James, hoping they would magically get themselves ready. The commands were marginally successful, with the key word being marginally; they both ended up wearing boots, in spite of the recent drought, and also in spite of my best efforts to persuade/encourage/direct them to choose more lightweight footwear.

Nevertheless, we made it. Things were going well! Charlie was sleeping! Everyone was excited! We were going to find some birds! Have an adventure! Discover a bridge! Wear explorer hats!

We made it about 20 yards into the woods before James wanted to sit down, but with the enticement of a stream at the bottom of the trail, he carried on, only stopping to pick up sticks and rocks about every five feet. It was slow going.

At the bottom of the trail, we discovered the stream was dry. It was a drought, after all. The boots were oh-so-useful, obviously. There was a nice rock for resting though, which James decided to make use of.

This trail ends by meeting up with another, so we carried on - there was a boardwalk! The bridge was nearby!

James said his feet hurt. Good.

We made some discoveries - buttonbush is an adorably named, very interesting plant, and better yet, there was a bench upon which to rest again.

We found both a tufted titmouse and wild blueberries, so things were looking up again. Until we got to the end of that trail, and Charlie started fussing and rooting around for milk while James decided he didn’t want to go ANY FURTHER AT ALL because…his feet hurt again. Curse those boots.

With many attempts at cajoling, we made it to the bridge at last, where I was at least able to satisfy Charlie’s immediate hunger needs. A great blue heron flew directly in front of us. We spotted a few turtles. The bird seed we had brought with us was a great source of delight to a nearby chipmunk. James wanted his boots off. Elise wanted to take another trail to go all the way around the pond that the bridge spanned. I said no.

With Charlie filled up, we moved on, but only a very, very short way because James was not going to make it back to the car with his boots on. No way, no how.

And thus, he hiked most of the rest of the way back in his socks, while I got to be the pack horse that carried the baby, the boots, a water bottle, several collected sticks, and a selection of rocks that he and Elise couldn’t bear to part with. At least they managed to carry their own explorer hats.

Pretty soon, we found some birds to feed, which was most exciting…

…until it wasn’t, because the bird’s feet were ever so slightly poky. Naturally, sobbing ensued.

We recovered, but only for a short while because the path is mostly gravel, which doesn’t feel so great when you’re walking around in socks. There was only one possible way we were going to get back to the car.

As a disclaimer, both Charlie and his neck were fine. Elise was really the champion of the outing and volunteered to carry James’ water and sticks, and I decided that I’d checked my first postpartum workout off my list.

At last, we made it back to the rock upon which James had rested at the outset of our explorations, whereupon we also discovered an excellent climbing tree.

If I thought our going was slow at the beginning of the adventure, the going was at least three times slower getting from the tree back to the car, but we did it! We managed our expedition, and we learned a few key lessons:

Lesson 1: Appropriate child footwear selection is maybe a hill you should actually die on.

Lesson 2: Going places with newborns is a lot easier than going places with toddlers.

Lesson 3: Laughter is good medicine. If I can remember to roll with the punches, the source material will spring forth eternal, even if it comes with a side of chagrin and sore muscles.

Woodstock Writings