Oh friends. Let’s recap the last 72 hours at the Huggins family circus. I feel perhaps the best way is to start with my Facebook statuses (statii??)
Monday 9:15 pm: “Y’all. Pray for my little family. Less than two weeks to go and my hormones are Out. Of. Control. I was awful today. AWFUL. I would like for them to still like me after this baby is born. Seriously. Pray for my patience and my physical and emotional state. And that my kiddos (esp Jaime) continue to have grace for me. And that maybe they don’t remember this in therapy later. And feel free to bring Pete beer. He probably needs it after dealing with me. (For the record though, he is being AMAZING.)”
Monday 11:13 pm: “Also I am crying because people messed up A’s T-ball registration. T-BALL!!! And I can’t sleep. COME OUT BABY GIRL.”
For the record, I didn’t go to sleep until 2. The next morning, because my parents are here and they love me, I slept on the couch from 8-10 am while my momma played with the wee ones.
So let’s review. I am a billion weeks pregnant. My hormones are coming in tsunami-like waves … and what shows up at the post office for us around 10:30 am? (After my glorious couch nap, of course ….)
These little guys. Ordered a month or so ago when I had a lot more energy and a wildly unrealistic perception of what these last few days would be like.
So without further ado, I would like to introduce to you the newest members of our family, Jonas, SnowHead, Charlotte, Chickaletta, and Tweet. And also, bid farewell to the last shreds of my sanity.
Who cares though, I AM OBSESSED WITH THESE CHICKENS. And oh, so are my wee ones. They LOVE these baby chicks and have wholly laid claim to the ones they have named.
(By the way, I will think of a TOTALLY AMAZING prize to the first person who correctly guesses which chicken goes with each family member. Five Huggins for five chickens. I’ll give you a hint even … Tweet belongs to Second Son. When you say “Tweet”, he says “Mine!”)
Last night I was wholly unprepared with how much anxiety I had over keeping them all alive through the night. Turns out that whole momma bear/nesting instinct extends to tiny baby chicks. Which is a good thing, because I spent the last two days wiping Jonas’s butt.
In conclusion: A billion months pregnant. Have five baby chicks locked in the kids bathroom. Been wiping tiny chicken butt for 48 hours.
I love my life. Seriously.
Update: I actually wrote this Wednesday night, so in the intervening hours you will all be happy to know that I no longer have to wipe tiny chicken butts. Jonas is all clear and all chicks are still alive! On a related note, I think Jonas hates me. Also, T-ball is a go for the Wee Man. Which is a good thing, because I’ve heard there is no crying in baseball.