The Big Compromise

So, after 8+ years of marriage, you realize it's all about compromise. For example, when you want to watch Grey's Anatomy and your husband wants to watch The Office, you compromise. You plant yourself on the comfy couch in front of the big, old fashioned, 27 inch tv and send him upstairs to watch on the small screen, with the volume turned down because the baby is trying to sleep. (This scenario doesn't apply to us because my husband detests watching tv, which works out quite well for me.) But you get the picture.

Approximately 3 years into our marriage, the question of when and how many kids came into play. We somewhat agreed on the "when", but the "how many" was a hot topic. I grew up as the middle child of three spread out over 8 years; therefore, I wanted three. He grew up as the youngest of two eleven months apart, and therefore wanted two. Since we have three, you're obviously wondering, where is the compromise? Well, he agreed to three, but we had to have them close together. That is why I'm happily, but slowly going insane at home with "O", lovingly referred to as "the puker" (due to his severe acid reflux), "I", also known as "the negotiator" because he is constantly asking for 2 more minutes, and "EG", best known as "the diva" because, well, quite frankly, she's a diva. They are 4 months, 3 years, and 4 years respectively. Last but not least is "the vacuum". She has four legs and eliminates my need for a broom after every meal, and for that, I am always grateful.