My third daughter is turning out to be the finest form of birth control for which I could have ever hoped.

Holy crap this kid is wearing my ass out!

She naps once a day, anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half. Other than that, she's up and doesn't stop. She doesn't play with toys. Has no interest in TV (other than occasionally going into a trance while watching DJ Lance Rock on Yo Gabba Gabba, and frankly that whole show scares me.) All she wants to do is climb, particularly on the ridiculously tall bar stools at my kitchen island, enabling her to climb onto the island itself so that she can teeter perilously close to the edge and nearly fall off backwards, giving me a simultaneous heart attack and mess in my pants. And I literally spend all of her waking hours saying, "Don't climb," pulling her off of dangerous perches, moving chairs away from anything climbable and you can be sure I am accomplishing nothing else.

But...with this craziness comes a firm and certain frame of mind telling me that my baby-making days are O-V-E-R, over. The exhaustion that comes with each one increases exponentially, and honestly, I am not in the mood to be tired anymore. So there.