me + 3

[caption id="attachment_1772" align="aligncenter" width="640" caption="in the elevator, heading out tonight"][/caption]

Some wise mama told me when I was pregnant with Stinkbug (baby #2) that it would take about six months for life to feel "normal". So true. At six months postpartum, new life seemed to enter my body because I knew what I was doing and I had the energy to do it. (Kinda.)

And after Doodlebug (baby #3), I found it to be true again... as we entered the sixth month, life just starting rolling... life with three kids was "normal". (Well, you know, if your kind of normal is saying things like "No, we don't put our hands in the toilet.")

And thinking back to after Ladybug (baby #1), I think it probably took about six months to get into a rhythm. Actually, I'm completely positive it did. Because at six months, she started napping more consistently, and we had entered our own groove of being mommy/baby.

So, I will go ahead and say that it takes about six months after you have a baby (whether it's #1, #2, #3...) for life to start feeling normal. So, if you're a sleep-deprived, un-showered, puddle of postpartum-ness, take heart-- and give yourself some time and some grace.

{And yes, I took all three kids out tonight. We walked to Burger King and had ice cream cones, and then we walked over to the super nice, new playground to exert some energy. And I felt great having three kids out by myself, hence the life-feels-normal-after-six-months-postpartum thoughts!

And another thought? I love living in a walkable place! I feel like I missed so much life when I lived in America because I drove everywhere.}

Postpartum Lesson

I had a baby three and a half months ago, so that puts me in the "postpartum" phase of life.  I've never struggled with postpartum depression, but boy oh boy am I struggling with postpartum hair loss these days.

I shed almost enough for another human every day.  Seriously, my bath tub drain looks like I lost a fight with a hair-pulling high school girl every morning.  I find hair on my pillow when I wake up, hair on the couch when I stand up, and I have to clean out my brush every day because... well, you get the picture.

Hubby and I have agreed it's amazing I still have hair on my head at all.

The other day as I was cleaning out the bathtub drain (again), and fuming about the hormonal imbalances that will certainly, eventually lead to total baldness, I remembered a funny little Scripture:

And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. (Matthew 10:30)

I just had to smile.  You see, the Bible says there are a number to the hair atop my head, and the Lord holds that number in His infinite sea of wisdom.  He knows.  That may not even strike you as such a great thing for Him to know about you, but my friend, I'm losing hundreds, possibly thousands of hairs every week, and each time ONE HAIR falls out, it doesn't do so without the Lord knowing.

Sheila has 3,478,213,459,213 hairs. Now, she has 3,478,213,459,212 hairs. Oh, there goes another one--3,478,213,459,211 hairs. 3,478,213,459,210 hairs.

He knows every one of them.  That's how valuable I am to my Heavenly Father.  So as much as losing my hair chunks at a time stinks these days, I am so grateful for the God who knows me in such a deep, personal, detailed way.  A God who cares about my hair more than I even do.