Moving on out
Oh my god, people, the MOVING.
There are boxes and boxes and boxes in our tiny house. I think I may have even boxed Josh, marked him KITCHEN and used the subset "husband" in my labeling. I shit you not, there approximately 80 packed boxes in my house and 50 of them are related to the kitchen.
You see, I fancy myself a cook. We host dinner parties pretty often and I am a freak and do things like make my own sorbet. So when we got married I was all, "Hot damn! Free shopping spree in the cooking departments with other people's money!"
And when we got 16 place settings of China and crystal, I mean, my God, we were going to use it all the time. Now granted, we have indeed already used the China on several occasions. But what in the sam-hell was I thinking?
Josh told me not to unpack the wedding gifts. I remember staring at him incredulously and shrieking at a decibel slightly above dog whistle, that I had all this nice pretty new stuff and damn it, I was going to USE it.
And each and every box that I packed this week came along with a curse and fist shaking toward the heavens about my stupidity.
Internet, if you are planning to move anytime in the next five years, START PACKING NOW.
I have decided we are not unpacking anything in the new house. We're only planning to stay there for three years. That's nothing! That's practically like renting. I can live out of boxes for that long. The baby can have two boxes when it arrives. One for sleeping and one for it's clothing. That's it.
So the packing and the packing and the packing, it continues this week. I single-handedly packed the kitchen this week while Josh was in Bloomington. Yes, the pregnant lady in this family boxed, taped and pushed into little piles ALL of the accumulated shit in our kitchen. And I whined about it later.
I even went so far as to walk three blocks to a local liquor store, secure some boxes, and carry them home three blocks. Uphill. In the snow. With no shoes.
Oh yeah, and the sick, it continues. Every day. Sick, sick, sick, blah, blah, blah. The doctor showed us the placenta at the appointment this week and I said, "Great! Doesn't that mean since the placenta is taking over than I should stop getting sick?"
I said this with an expectant smile on my face and a pleading quality to my voice.
And she responded, "Yep, in a couple of weeks."
I want to stop now. Please. Please? Please!