Buh. It’s only Monday (right? It’s Monday?) and already things are looking grim around here. Currently there is an ironing board piled to the heavens with wrinkly garments right in front of the door into the house, an empty drying rack in the middle of the living room, way more baby gear than any small human could ever possibly need on the front porch, and piles of paper on every surface that is stationary. No seriously: all the surfaces.

All.

Of them.

Max had his 4-month checkup today (17-and-a-half pounds of delicious babylove) and so spent the majority of the hours between 4 and 8 feeling pretty peeved about the fact that someone would deign jab him in the legs five (FIVE) times. Although it’s funny how different a personality he already seems to have when compared to baby Rosie, who even at that age seemed like she would flip you the bird, if only she had independent control over her fingers. Max just cries, sweetly and pitifully. Like the kind of crying that makes you want to hold him forever even though you are giving yourself the back of a 90-year-old in the process. Relatedly: need to put “FIGURE OUT THE DAMN BABY CARRIER” on my long-ass to-do list.

Noah lost another tooth. We forgot to Tooth Fairy the tooth. Dammit.

Rosie keeps telling me every day that there were green beans for lunch and that she ate all of them. While I applaud her aplomb, I do not think this is A.) true or B.) true. But she says it for my reaction, and so dadgum if I don’t act proud of her every time for pretend-eating those nonexistent green beans.

Everyone is asleep in this house now except for me. Somehow, though, I think I am the tiredest one. Whyfore does this happen? Why am I blogging? What are these words coming out from my fingeres? Why can’t I spell fingers?

I’m upright but brain dead and no good with stringing together a sentence or making sentences that I do string together string together these days, but there is one SAT-worthy vocabulary that I do still know, and it repeats in my head all the livelong day, and that is why it is the title of this post, the end.

Editor’s note: We traveled back in time to recount the beginning of Rachel’s life as a mom of three. She’s gotten the groove with her brood in Decatur. She blogs at yestertimeblog.com.