Thursday, October 7, 2010

Too Bad I Can't Just Have A Stiff Drink and Spare You This Post

It’s later than I usually write. Well, that’s not to say it’s late. Maybe what I mean is that I’m tireder than I usually write. Which ends up being Whinewhinewhine, woeisme, lifeishard, wahwahwah, whinewhinewhine. Either way, what I basically mean is that nothing I say should be taken seriously and you all should just put on your fake smiles and nod and pat my arm and leave it at that.

In fact, when we were first married, the Bubba and I had a no-talking policy twice a day. Between the time he got home from work and had something to eat and after 10pm. Anything that was said between those fateful hours was bound to end up some sort of squabble and maybe even escalate into a fight. No fun.

(Ok, ready with that fake smile and arm pat?)

You know what else is no fun? Moving. Trying to move with my family is absolutely INSUFFERABLE.

I hate that we’re going to have to do this at least once more in the foreseeable future when (IF) we (EVER) find a house we want to buy. … But look at me borrowing trouble again, and getting stressed about some future event that might not happen for ages! I mean really, I have enough to be stressed about right now.

First, there’s the certain shorty who thinks that the world revolves around her. She doesn’t think that I should dare turn my back on her to do something like empty cupboards into a box. A box. I mean, come on. Everyone KNOWS boxes are for dumping things OUT of. And climbing into. And pushing around on the carpet.

Then there’s the fetus, that selfish thing that ALSO thinks that the world revolves around him/her. And his/her sole purpose right now is to leave me enough energy to know what I should be doing and walk around looking at those things and at the same time suck my energy so that I really don’t want to DO any of those things, or (more likely) I do half of one thing before I’m exhausted and frustrated and ready to give up.

These siblings are already working together to break my sanity.

And then! Then there’s the Bubba. Oh, the Bubba. The Bubba is just something else when it comes to moving. I don’t know anyone else in the history of humankind who can seriously take fifteen thousand hours to pack one single solitary box. No joke. When I check on him, he’ll be standing perfectly still staring down into the box. When I’m all “WTH, worker bee??” He’ll sheepishly say, “Oh, I got distracted reading this,” indicating an article in a week-old newspaper that he’s currently using to wrap glassware.


And then there’s the “Did you get anything done today?” when the Bubba gets home from work. Tonight he called to say he was on his way home, I suggested we pick him up because we were going to the new house. So I threw a bunch of random stuff that I could grab into the back of the car without much thought as to how it was presented. “Nice packing job, Liz.” was all that was said, thick with sarcasm, as he unloaded. (To the Bubba’s credit, it turned out that I smashed one stroller, one golf bag, one open box with stuff overflowing - and by overflowing I mean falling out all over - and well, another open box with stuff overflowing, and then our yoga mats in there. Random AND messy.)

I’m being sensitive. I’m stressed and tired and worried and tired and pregnant and tired. I get to be sensitive and frustrated. Sometimes I don’t think we’ll ever get done because all that gets done is what I do. So then I want to just check out and leave everything to the Bubba, and good luck to you, Fine Sir. But then I know that we’ll get done, and I just need to go to bed (which, if I'm being honest, is the answer to quite a few issues).

This too shall pass.


Elizabeth said...

Moving is just totally awful. And I ABSOLUTELY SO WELL know that feeling of being the only one to get things done but knowing you won't physically be able to do it all yourself. Lord, is that ever stressful.
However if it makes you feel better, moving seems to have been a lot like childbirth. Now that three ish years have passed since the last time we moved, I have forgotten just how horrible it was. And you will too! Just in time to remember how fun childbirth is :)

Amy --- Just A Titch said...

I think moving is one of the worst things ever. I thought that I might have ended up moving into prison during our last move, simply because Andrew didn't do a DAMN THING and I WANTED HIM DEAD. Ugh.

And to do it pregnant sounds like actual hell.

Godspeed, lady-friend.

Carrie said...

Do you know why I live with my husband and two kids and two cats in 900 sq. ft? Because we are too lazy to move. Because moving sucks!!!

You will be okay and it will end soon. And I'm so sorry I'm going to be gone next week and not around for escapes from the unpacking. But know that I'm praying for you and the fetus and Lucy and your hubby and everything else.

Annie said...

Oh Liz! Moving really is one of the worst things ever. And moving when you're pregnant is even worse. And moving when you're pregnant AND you have another little person to care for? Worse. AND moving when you're pretty much the only one who accomplishes anything? ENOUGH TO DRIVE A PREGNANT MAMA OVER THE EDGE. (I think The Bubba and Tim must be brothers.) I remember having this very same conversation with Amy when I was packing up our old place...and she told me the same things that I see she told you in her comment above. Perhaps it's a guy thing, I don't know... But you'll do it! And it will all get done. It will. I wish we lived closer so as to give you a hand - or at least take Lu to the park for a little while so you could pack (or better yet take a nap!) Hang in there, friend. You're doing great! xxoo

Spacebooke said...

I know you've moved already and are now at the stage of unpacking boxes but I just wanted to say YES! to all this. Moving sucks, the cleaning of the old apartment and then the NEW apartment (er hourse) sucks. I was so relieved to renew our lease and just say, not dealing with it for another year re: moving. Good luck.