The Pregnant Life: Moving Day!

We Moved!!
Home sweet fireplace!
We moved! It's the most amazing, miraculous thing! One day we were stacked up on top of each other in a tiny two-bedroom; the next we were stretched out across a huge three-bedroom! Not that it was easy -- because I can't do much of anything, we had to pay movers not just to lug stuff, but to pack a lot of it too. Embarrassing, but they worked much quicker than we would've, and it's done. Plus, my parents helped out with the expense, thank goodness. It's so good to have backup when you need it.

On the big day, my husband drove me and Penelope to the Second Location with a suitcase full of clothes, a couple bags of groceries, and about half of Penelope's toys. That's it.


P ran up and down the long hallway, but every 15 minutes or so she'd realize her dad wasn't around and would wail for him. (That is just ... so nice. Because, you know, I carried her in me and suckled her from my teats, in case you haven't noticed.) It was hard to keep her occupied, and whenever I settled my lumbering frame on one spot of floor, she'd rocket off to a different locale, leaving me to hoist my carcass off the ground and thump after her. I'm pretty sure we looked like the Death Star chasing a tie-fighter. Finally, I borrowed a chair from my new landlady (who also brought us lentil soup and curry, lest we starve during the move -- who knew Indians were so Jewish?) so I could at least snuggle my little agitated muffin without straining my back, belly or ... everything else.

By early afternoon, I was worn out. If I weren't pregnant, it would've been no problem, but I'm not used to being on my own with P as it is -- Randy does most of the hands-on care while I work from home -- and I was thirsty, crampy, and feeling awful. My friend Kathy arrived with empanadas and a car, took one look at me, and said, "We're going to my house." I objected for about five seconds, then realized I had no idea where I was going to put Penelope down for her nap. So we went to Kathy's, where P put her head down and was out within seconds (I'm not exaggerating) and slept for over two hours (I think this was really emotionally exhausting for her). Meanwhile I put my head down while Kathy went to pick up her daughter Martha from preschool. I think they were gone for 45 minutes, and I went into a weird deep cocoon-like sleep ... the kind where you're aware of how hard you're sleeping even as you snooze.

The trouble was that I was also in a significant amount of pain. It was in my pelvis, not a cramp, but it was really bad. You know what it felt like? Like someone had shoved a speculum into me and cranked it open without warning. Seriously! I had to check to make sure there wasn't a shoe in there! But since it wasn't a cramp in my abdomen, I thought it had to be tendon-related, not a contraction. I drank a ton of water and waited to see what would happen. I was frustrated with myself for waiting, but also couldn't figure out what I'd even do if I called the doctor's office and they told me to come in. My toddler was napping, I didn't have a car, Randy was moving -- the first thing he had said to me that morning was, "Now, all I ask of you today is that you not go into labor." I'd promised!

By the time Kathy and Martha were back, I was still tired, but no longer in pain. Martha tiptoed over to see Penelope sleeping in her bed and stood there, hands clasped under her chin, gazing at her raptly; when P finally woke up, they grinned at each other and hugged and kissed like old friends from the shtetl reunited. It was so. Freaking. Cute. They played till Randy came to get me, and we went out to a celebratory dinner and then returned to our new home to find one million boxes, but comfortable beds set up for me and P.

Our first night was quiet. Mainly because we no longer look out on a busy street, with a streetlight glaring in our windows. P was exhausted and slept like a stone, but I was up at 3 a.m. with the same pain. This time I was more freaked out, but again, felt too unsure to make a call. Really? Wake up my husband, who'd spend the day hurling boxes up and down three flights of stairs, put the exhausted baby in the car, and run to labor-and-delivery because I had ligament pain? I couldn't do it. Fortunately, I was right again.

I did check in with the doctor the next day; she said if the pain went on for more than 30 minutes, or I felt regular contractions, I was to come the hell in and not be an idiot (not her words). But so far, so good. Though my hips have been extremely creaky and even my shoulders and arms are sore, I feel pretty good and can get out of bed without too much fuss.

And the new place is fabulous! What a great Mother's Day present! Thanks for handling EVERYTHING, Husband!

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