Freaking out

Okay, I admit it.  I should have been heavily medicated for this move.  I lost it this week.  DH went away on business and I was home alone with the dog and the kid and the boxes.  The kid has been teething – the molars – and oh, boy, that’s terrible.  He was whiny, bitchy, miserable, clingy – no, wait – that was me.  At one point, while I waited for the Advil to take effect, I went to my happy place while he alternatively wanted me to pick him up then put him down again all the while whinging like a creaky door. He’s also coughing a lot but that’s part of the teething.

We went out a lot (ohmigod – STAIRS, no elevator!) , exploring the neighbourhood.  Dunbar is like a urban suburb.  A sleepy stretch of stores mere blocks away (a convenient liquor store and Tim Horton’s tantalizingly close) amidst lots of beautiful old homes.  Some renovated and spiffy, some not, all incredibly expensive.  The majority are million dollar homes.  For my American readers, please do not envision beautiful, huge estates.  These houses are fairly ordinary.  It’s all about prime real estate here.

I discovered another black person just a block and half away.  An older gentleman coming out on his porch, I waited til I caught his eye and we started to chat.  Turns out he coaches a soccer team that my husband and a former co-worker (from his corrections days) played with years ago.     Small world, eh?  Then later on the return trip, my son’s loud cries attracted his wife (who thought it was her cat) and she came out to say hi.

I tried to do some unpacking, but dealing with the Precious and the dog made that nearly impossible.  After he went to bed, I just puttered around, went to bed and did email and read a bit.  I was just worn out.    By the time DH came home, I was quite jittery.  He caught the early flight, came home, changed, went back to the office, came back home, took the dog, did some errands and by the time he finally returned home, I literally bolted and ran out the door with the promise to bring back Indian food.  I think I was shaking. When I was driving down a side road, I clipped someone’s driver side view mirror with my side view mirror.  I’ve never done that before.  The guy approached his car a few moments later and I actually admitted it and apologized.  He just waved it off.  I guess it happens.

As I waited for our order to be ready, I just sat and breathed in and out trying to look normal.  I was considering not going home for a couple of days.  I just needed a break away from a teething toddler who insisted on careening around a non babyproofed home (he fell continuously trying to maneouvre the raised entrance to the kitchen, hit his head on a corner (not that hard but it scared the crap out of me) pulled things out of boxes, etc.  The dog was wondering what the heck was going on, skittered down the basement stairs,  and wanted in and out several times a day, the forced air heating was either too hot or too cold, the hardwood floors are slightly slanted and creak, the washer wasn’t working, the backyard needed cleaning up, I don’t have a rake, I only have two arms and one of them is cramped because I’m carrying around a cranky baby who won’t let me out of his sight.  I need my hair done.  And a drink.

The waiter asked me if I wanted something to drink, but I just took water.  An hour later, I came home and realized that a lot of people fold in their side view mirrors because the streets are narrow and people park on both sides.  Okay, don’t feel so bad about that boo-boo anymore. My husband is exhausted and stressed out from work yet he’s working ceaselessly trying to put the place to order.  He’s a good man.  I can’t complain because I chanted for this and now I have it.  I just panicked cause I’m out of my comfort zone, out of a comfy, spacious, electrically equipped home and into one that is “as is” quirky and I don’t even own it  and I’m freaking out cause it’s just CHANGE.

Boxes and Dust – part 2

As I was going through one of my drawers, I came across my mum’s expired passport and a couple of photos of her in better days.  She looked so young.  The mother I knew when I was growing up.  Rings I’m holding on for her.  It made me a little sad.  A side effect of going through stuff, I’m afraid. And then I found an email I had printed out from my husband about 4 years ago.  Life was pretty crappy for me at that point, so I hated to be reminded that things were ever that bad.    Yet I’m also glad  – keeps me from complaining too much in the present.  I see all the stuff I’ve been hanging on to.  Bits and pieces of things – like shoe strings, buttons, ticket stubs, play programmes, love notes, we need to talk notes.  Wow, I am a pack rat.  Or a collector of memories, depends on your point of view.  I get so attached to the smallest of things.

I still have a few syringes and paraphernalia left from my cycling days.  I held on to this stuff on purpose.  Mementos of a life wished for and not attained.  I’m not sure why this seems so important because the only thing in life you can count on is that things change.

Infertility manifested itself in our lives and nothing was ever the same.  No matter how well balanced I feel, now matter how calm I feel, I always feel vulnerable to reminders of the past.  I’d like NOT to considering my dream of being a parent came true.

I subscribe to an email newsletter about family events in the city.  I read one item that promoted a group called Birth Lounge that’s all about birth, pregnancy and beyond.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that in the slightest.  They’re sponsoring a big event and I noticed that one of the sponsors was an acupuncture clinic that I shelled out a substantial amount of money to help me conceive all for naught.  For one brief moment, I actually felt excluded.  It was a reminder of my infertile past.  I watch a pregnant woman on TV getting photography shots of her belly and I feel a slight sadness that I didn’t get to have that experience of carrying my child. There’s no saying that if I had been pregnant that it would turned out all right or that I wouldn’t run into some horrendous medical condition.  Something tells me that pregnancy would have left my body a flabby wreck and I’d be moaning about that now for sure.  Yet, sometimes I get that old message that says I screwed up somehow, I made a mistake somewhere along the line.

I feel pretty content in my life these days.  After about 7 years of crap, life has becomes more sweet than bitter.  Yet, still these small things get under my skin a little.  I hate that.  These bits of papers and things that remind me of the past.

Time to take out the trash.

Guess who’s moving?

So I was chanting this morning after feeding the cranky Boo some breakfast – phone rang – we got the house!   Eeeks!  And hurray!  And eeks again!  Then a flurry of texting – and DH asks me if I’m happy.  I think it’s sweet that he asks but really that’s always a loaded question for me.  I’m not nearly as contented until I am past the big change and can relax. Like going on a trip – until the plane arrives safely, my luggage arrives, and I can  determine the sheets in the hotel bed are not nasty and I breathe vacation air, I’m not relaxed and happy.  This is no different.

But yeah, I’m pretty excited! My ultimate goal is not to find a home that I don’t have to get up and move.  I can make it my own, pull up my rocking chair and shotgun and tell interlopers to GET OFFA MY LAND!  Until then, I AM looking forward to a fresh start!