This house? Isn’t going to pack itself. And, at this point, the new tenants and I might actually have to share a bed. They are newlyweds so…awkward. But, hey, at least it will be good birth control to have an almost three year old crawling in at 2am.
My littles are not helping matters. It used to be annoying mixed with a little bit amusing to have them “help” me pack. Now? It borders on trauma. To all of us. Amelia is beside herself, howling in righteous indignation every time I leave the room. She holds on to me at every waking moment. Except when she has something she shouldn’t and then she runs the other direction. Last night, she stayed awake until midnight because she kept waking up when I tried to put her to bed. I don’t always get her fully asleep but she was being clingy. So I coddled her. And it backfired. We went to bed (MY bed) together shortly after midnight.
It’s been a long day.
Mostly though, I am overwhelmed by what has to be done. Commitments need to be completed. Appointments (before we lose our insurance). Not to mention a whole freaking house to pack. Essentially by myself. I know, I know. Find a hole and dig. Thanks, Dad. But it’s a whole house. As in, more than one room. As in, more than one person.
And I’m tired. The reason for moving home is that I’m tired. I need help. But I need help today. I feel like I’m losing this battle.
My mom keeps saying that in a month it will all be better. I’ll be in my house. Ella will be in school. I can go to work a few hours a week. I can join a gym. I can meet other mamas in town and be part of the community. It’s like labor pains…you forget when the baby arrives.
But when you’re in labor, it’s all you can think about. And I had help each and every time. I had Stephen to coach me and take the pain away. He was there, whispering in my ear how strong I was and how much he loved me. That we could do this together.
And now I’m alone. A single mama. Being monitored. Getting the calls from well wishers every once in a while. They are waiting for the good news that the pain is over so they can come and visit and see the newness. The hope.
Yeah, like labor.
It’s like labor that you have to fit into a 24 foot box truck and have it ready to pack by next Thursday afternoon so that you can take your babies to their grandparents, pick up the truck, pack it and drive it to your brand new house that is sitting, waiting, ready for a family. A stove that never heated a meal. A toilet never crapped in. A lawn never mowed. A driveway never cleared of snow. A garage without oil stains or sleds or bikes. New. Really new.
So yeah, maybe my crazy mom is on to something. Maybe in a month, I will forget. I will forget how I had to shake off my kid just to make dinner or how I finished off the vanilla vodka instead of packing. Maybe I will forget that the (former) in-laws aren’t about to pinch hit when I need them to. Or how I am leaving my boys in the dust of a town that I may not see again (but probably will).
Oddly enough, I remember labor with each child. Not every pain.
But I was sure glad when it was over.