Ah, moving. That magical time when you look at all your belongings and say “How did I end up with so much crap?”
We got rid of so much stuff this time. Houses worth of stuff. More stuff than I thought we owned. And yet! We still have so much of it left! All in boxes! Including, apparently, my iPad charger, so clearly the situation is dire.
The actual relocation process was a comedy of errors: the moving truck that broke down, the elevator that of course stopped working right when loading the heavy stuff, the cat who freaked out in the carrier and peed all over everything. (Bright side: I finally got the new stroller I wanted! Well, used. On craigslist. But it’s super swank and doesn’t smell at all like cat pee.)
Yesterday I finally got out to the old place and did all the last-pass cleaning. I hate scrubbing down an empty house I used to love. It makes me feel so sad. I really thought that was going to be the place we stayed all through Ellison’s elementary school years – he’d be riding his bike around the neighborhood while Rory learned to walk and scooted after him on her tricycle. Now I’m having to shift gears back to being a city mom, all playdates and parks. I loved being a city mom when Ellison was little, and I’m sure I’ll love it again. It’s just different. Different, and not what I expected.
But now we’re officially moved. Done. And I can sit in our living room and watch the city lights at night through our floor to ceiling windows, and it seems like maybe this isn’t so bad.
Now if I could just find the box where I packed the baby…
Oh the things you forget.
First up: babies? Messy. There’s cradle cap and baby acne and spit up and everything to do with diapers – not to mention whatever things exist in neck folds (seriously, don’t look in there). You think you remember diapers, at least, and how many of them can require changing in the space of, say, one hour. You are wrong.
Sleep dep: harsh. Again, you think you remember, and you think you can maybe do better this time. You are mistaken on both counts. (Fun fact: posting on Facebook about how tired you are at roughly three days post-partum does not elicit the expected sympathetic noises from other moms, but rather a stream of one-ups rendered even more bewildering by the fact that you are so tired you actually literally can’t see straight.)
It takes time for the belly to disappear. I mean, you knew this, but for some reason you also expect to fit into your pre-preg jeans at 2 weeks pp, which: no.
Nursing: hurts. You remember this. What you don’t remember is that, in the first few weeks, when the baby latches it feels EXACTLY like she is clamping down with a mouthful of needles.
The other thing you have forgotten, maybe: it’s totally worth it.
So, I’m up the duff. Bun in the oven. Etc. (Only one bun; the two tests are for OCD purposes only.)
That’s right, we’re having another baby! Here are the deets:
- I’m due at the end of August
- Not nearly as pukey as last time
- Kid = VERY excited
I have one cup of coffee a day. One. Sometimes not even a whole cup.
So when I thought maybe I’d skip coffee on Monday, I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. Because I don’t drink that much! And it’s hardly like I’m an addict!
Ha ha ha ha haaaaaa.
By noon I had a caffeine headache, which was annoying but bearable.
By three I had a full-on migraine.
Coffee was all “Imma choke a bitch” and I was all “Please, coffee, I’m sorry, I will never do it again.”
Today’s cup was delicious.
Maureen Johnson: AUNTIE MJ’S VEGETARIAN GRAVY
Every Thanksgiving, I make vegetarian gravy. And every Thanksgiving, I BLOW PEOPLES’ MINDS at the thought, because I guess a lot of people don’t realize that vegetarian gravy is even possible. Of course it is possible! And there are as many variations of it as they are variations of meat-based…
I think I need to make this.
I told you. Didn’t I tell you?
Study participants, all of whom were diagnosed with depression, were split into two groups: one received “physical activity intervention” (which sounds like a scary new reality TV show) along with normal care for a year, while the other people weren’t forced to exert themselves. The people in the group that worked out for twelve months said the exercise didn’t alleviate their depression in the slightest.
via Exercise Doesn’t Really Help Depressed People.
I am thinking of giving my real site a sort of Gorey-inspired theme, and also dressing up my avatar in stripy tights and OH MY GOD AREN’T I TOO OLD FOR THIS? (I’m probably still going to do it, though.)