I see a teenage pregnancy in our future.

I don't know how Mary Poppins does it. She runs a daycare, and seems chipper and perky and all those good things. Me? I've got an 18 month baby girl here during the day for two weeks, and I think I might need to take up drinking. At breakfast.
Don't get me wrong, she's adorable. Cute, tiny little girl with a head full of blond curls. She naps and eats like an angel. But still, the jump from two kids to three is making me glad Hubby and I are done having Terrors.
Nap time is a military operation. It all has to be timed perfectly in order to have all three tucked in at the same time, without completely throwing off Baby Girl's personal schedule. Meals are fun now that we get to see options. Boy Terror wants what Baby Girl is having. Baby Girl wants whatever Girl Terror is eating. I've tried explaining to my two that BG's mummy packs her lunch every day, and it is just enough for one little tummy. I've tried to get the Terrors to eat without showing their new friend every bite. I've tried to convince myself that vodka and valium are not as bad as they sound, and surely they belong to a food group, somewhere.
I can't discipline a child that isn't mine. If she hits (with her tiny little fist) someone, I don't have it in me to do more than get her to give hugs to the victim. If she chooses not to eat her veggies, I still give her the rest of her lunch. She pulls out all the toys off all the shelves, all at once, and I actually help her spread them around the room. Arghh.
Now, the absolute worst thing has happened. Girl Terror wants another baby. A girl baby, she says. I've told her we are NOT doing that, but she persists. Today she told me (again) that she is having four children of her own. Two girls, two boys. And she will have them whenever she wants.