Does My Uterus Speak to You?

There I was, at the entrance to Denny’s, beckoning for the boys to follow me, when she saw me. The lady smiled as she watched my kids file into the restaurant.  Her own son, who towered over her, held the door open for us. 

“If you can do three, you can do four!” she said emphatically. “I know. I have six.” And with that, she left the restaurant.

This is not the first time I’ve heard this expression, but not always with my current numbers.

It made me think though. What did that lady see in that 30 second assessment of my parenting skills that made her encourage me to reproduce?

Was it merely that I dared to take all my children out in public? Or was it that I had them all out of the house and dressed in time for breakfast? We were camping at the time, so it really wasn’t a normal accomplishment. In fact, it was easier to take them to Denny’s than to try to cook breakfast over a campfire while preventing them from falling into it, but she didn’t know that, of course.

Maybe it’s that there’s some sort of secret club for mother’s of four or more, and if I could just have one more kid, I could learn the secret handshake. Maybe she was a recruiter and saw potential in me.

Perhaps it was a compliment. I was “doing three” so well, that I needed a challenge. At that moment, none of my children were climbing onto each others’ backs or pinching each other. None of them were screaming, and if I recall correctly, I wasn’t even holding any of their hands. They were just following me into the restaurant in an unplanned line of sorts. I don’t think I even looked frazzled, but it was only 8 in the morning, after all.

Or, it’s just that my kids are so good looking, and she thought, “We need more kids in the world that look like that. I should tell that woman to have more...”

Maybe we looked like we could afford to have more kids. We were at a Denny’s, which is pretty fancy by McDonald’s standards. A lady actually comes to your table to take your order, and she refills your coffee cup as many times as you want. Clearly, just by being at such a fine establishment indicates enough financial security to bring another life into the world.

Or maybe, my uterus was calling out to her. “Feed me!” or whatever it is that uteruses (or is it uteri?) would be prone to say. Maybe only women that have had more than three kids can recognize the voices of other women’s uteri (I googled it. FYI: uteri is the proper pluralization for uterus. Just in case, you know, you ever need to talk about more than one.)

The truth is that I feel overwhelmed by three kids about 95 percent of the time, so it’s comforting to know that I look capable and confident to strangers. Well, maybe not the strangers at the grocery store. I’m pretty sure they probably think I should have stopped after one when they see me trying to keep Andrew from climbing out of the cart while simultaneously pulling Jacob and Benjy apart. Why is that grocery stores are the ultimate breeding ground for chaos?

Would that woman have still thought I should have another child if she knew that I fed my kids frozen pizza twice this week? I mean, I cooked it, but it came out of the freezer pre-made. What if she knew about how I accidentally put my shirt on backwards and inside out and then was too tired to care or change it? Or how about that time I hid the Swiffer mop from the youngest (he loves to clean), and then I couldn’t find it again? Actually, this happens with many things. The old brain/memory just isn’t what it used to be. I can’t even keep their names straight. I either go down the list until I land on the right one or call out a combined “Jabendrew!” Are these the admissions of a competent parent?

I have great admiration for the ladies that have more than three kids, and I marvel at their abilities to multitask and manage chaos. But honestly, I’m just not sure I’m up for that challenge. And isn’t the argument “if you can do (insert current number of children), you can do (add one)” just a slippery slope to the Duggars? When do you stop? At one point do you stop “doing (number)” well? My kids might one day argue that my number was two. 

Thank you stranger lady at Denny’s for the compliment.  I guess I make parenting look easy.  Well, at the very least, I make entering a restaurant with multiple children look easy.  Sometimes.