I am an expert mover. In the past three and a half years I have lived in SEVEN different homes between different apartments, staying with friends over the summer ;) , and living with family during transitions such as the one we're in now--buying a house. Now I'm starting my eighth move. I feel the exhaustion that comes from taking myriad trips from the car to the house, along with the excitement that makes me want to keep working even though my body is telling me to slow down.
I've moved while pregnant-very pregnant. I've moved with Luke as a newborn, a six-month old, a one year old, a two year old, and now while pregnant with a two year old. Phew! Fortunately I've kept my head on pretty straight to this point, and even though the task seems overwhelming, I'm just trying to do what I can and let the rest go until I can get to it.
For someone like me, moving is an intense challenge. I love order, routine, and organization. When we've moved, we've had none of these. Our belongings are stuffed in garages, basements, and utility rooms of nearly every family member whose spared us the space. Our boxes are old diaper boxes, and I've got kitchenware packed with linens and baby toys. It's a mess and it's only going to get worse before it gets better. Usually at this point of moving/packing I'm on the floor crying and begging for an Ativan (only joking), but I've been pleasantly laid back this time around.
Yes, I'm a veteran mover and I hate moving with a passion, but sometimes it has to be done. This time around I'm going to try to relax, enjoy the packing, moving, and unpacking process while only stressing about the things that are important...like not losing the crib screws or breaking the margarita glasses.