I spent the majority of the weekend painting the duplex that we are going to be moving into the middle of this week. It was a long task, and more physically exhausting than I thought it would be (I presume Spencer can be to blame for that, at least partially). The other chunk of the weekend, I spent going through things at our current residence, packing them up, sorting them into piles, trying to savor some energy, as well as spend time with Jake and Wendell.
Tonight, I came home from work, and took a look around, and just burst into tears.
I hate moving.
I don't hate the aspect in which you take up residence in a new place. that part, I actually find to be a somewhat thrilling adventure. The aspects I hate are... packing, transporting, and unpacking. I'm not what you would call "skilled" at packing, and I find it to be tedious and boring under normal circumstances.
But, I've been alone for the majority of it... and I haven't really accomplished much. I'm not blaming anyone, and I'm not trying to complain and whine about it either. I'm just stating.
It's hard to be 33 weeks pregnant, emotional, tired, sore, and then unfocused... and try to pack up a household of things. And then I find myself trying to debate what I can pack up, what I should pack up, and what I should wait to do until right before we move. I mean, come on, let's be practical, I shouldn't pack up and move all of the food and the bathroom supplies... and then not eat or shower for three days. And then there's the focus thing... I get side tracked, or I'd rather have some human contact (because Jake is working to provide for our family, which I appreciate more than I express to him sometimes (I am sorry, babe, for that)) so I check my facebook, or text my friends. I can't stand trying to accomplish this task in utter desolation. (Yes, that's somewhat dramatic, I realize, but like I said, I'm an emotional roller coaster lately, ask Jake.)
And it's really hard to not be able to be carrying and lifting boxes on my own... and furniture, too. I understand it's not really safe for me, nor Spencer to be doing so, but then I just feel so... helpless.
And I feel horrible for my husband. I dread the packing and the small stuff I can do on my own, and then... I think about all that he has to do without my help, and how he has to try to find help to do it. As strong and amazing as he is (which he is, I tell you), he can't exactly carry a piano 10 blocks by himself, as well as up and down stairs.
It's just... a dreadful scenario all around.
But, instead of continuing this ramble... I'm going to work on washing the rest of the laundry and getting ready to move it over there myself (because hey, I can do that!) so that the washer and dryer will be ready to be moved come Wednesday as well. And I will most likely go through the desks as I do the laundry, and de-clutter and pack those up as well.