All Tore Up

It's final. 

I hate other people's children. 

Ok, so not all of them, but I would say I really don't like at least 50% of them. 

Today during sharing time I had two kids who didn't want to stay in their seats.  At this point, I could really care less if they stay there or not.  I'm already having a hard time bending at the waist and an even harder time lifting (let alone wrestling) anything over 30 pounds (don't tell me what a wimp I am, I already know). 

Unfortunately, everyone else cares and they look at me like I'm shirking my duty if my kids are running all over the room.  I'm trying with everything I've got to not be apathetic.

Near the end of the meeting, I had one in a literal headlock when the other one made a break for it.  I reached out as far as I could to grab the back of his shirt and yank him back and I swear to you that something in my abdomen ripped in half. 

For the rest of church I had to sit slumped over to the left side and when we got home, I tried to move as little as possible, while getting all hopped up on Tylenol.  All I could think was, "Oh, I should have done all those ab workouts Nancy tried to make me do when we lived togther!"

I figure the only way to effectively fulfill my calling from now until this baby comes is going to have to involve parent permission slips and duct tape, sisal twine, or straight jackets for the three-year-olds. 

I really am at a loss as to how mothers with several young children do this