Since the early stages of this pregnancy, and certainly since I have started this blog, there has been an elephant in the room that I haven’t spoken about. It’s been on my mind and the tip of my tongue, but I just haven’t been able to bring myself to sit down and write about it. Well, the elephant has stood up, and has started to dance the lambada, so I can ignore it no longer.
We’re moving house next week…..
It’s not that I don’t want to move, I love our new house, I am really excited about having a place of our own again. We’ve been renting since we moved home from the UK, and it’ll be great for the toddler to have her own room, complete with Peppa Pig/ Dora / Barney (or whatever character is in toddler vogue) accessories. I’m looking forward to choosing my own curtains and light-fittings – for the last number of months I have been staring in part amazement, part horror at the ones in our living room, wondering did someone pay real money for them, were they given free, or better still, was the landlord paid to take them?
It will also be great to settle down somewhere. Since this millennium kicked off, I have regularly piled my belongings – which initially fit into a battered red suitcase – into various forms of transport and taken off to a new home, crossing the length of India, the Irish sea, and even the Liffey to do so. It has been really exciting, and I wouldn’t change a thing, but as well as picking up lots of shoes on my travels, there is now a husband, a toddler, a house full of furniture, and all manner of other “essentials” from candlestick holders to smoothie makers, which need to be transported. Moving has become harder every time – the period of chaos before and after has extended each time, to the point that I feel that I have only just got over the last move (March) and now we’re off again. So I am pinning my hopes that this is the last one – that the husband and I have found our forever home, and that we will settle down to a life of domestic bliss and smoothies in the candlelight there together.
But before we can kick off with the domestic bliss, we need to get through the move with our sanity and our marriage intact. I’m almost 8 months pregnant, and my ability to see both sides of an argument deserted me about 6 months ago. The toddler, who has a similar approach to me on arguments, can best be termed as “change-resistant”. (She doesn’t like a new type of pasta, just how she will react to a new home is anyone’s guess). There are builders in situ in the new house at the moment and while they confidently insist that it will be habitable next Friday, I am dubious – I suppose it depends on the definition of habitable really, doesn’t it? And of course, there is a baby on the way. I want the baby to come, preferably a little early, but I want the house to be ready, and looking just right, before it does. When I first articulated that hope it sounded reasonable, but as the time approaches it has become obscured in packing materials and builders’ muddy footprints.
On the plus side, even though we are only moving about 3 roads away, we are getting movers in. Previous moves have involved the husband and a van, aided by whoever he could coerce / bribe / threaten. He feels that to pay for professional movers is crazy, when there are able bodied males around who can do the honours. I listened to his arguments (or pretended to) while remembering the way that my Waterford crystal got handled the last time, and patiently pointed out the hidden cost of doing the move himself. Namely, divorce. Quotes were swiftly obtained, and funnily enough, the movers are all booked in now. It pays to be pregnant in some cases.
So if I block out the mess, and the fact that I won’t be able to find the hairdryer/ potato peeler until next May, and the poor toddler feeling disassociated, I can start to look forward to the first of many Christmases in our new home. At least until we get itchy feet again…