Friday, February 24, 2012

We don't do things that way...

Most people take on new projects one at a time, so they can fully submerse themselves in whatever it is and come out the other side refreshed and ready to take on something else.

I am not most people. Case in point:

I was MIA through the Thanksgiving-birthday-Christmas-birthday cluster that is November through January. That's a given. But right about the time I should have been able to recover, we got those two little pink lines on a stick that said, "Hold on, you're in for another wild ride!"

So for the last 13 weeks or so, I have been a tired, forgetful, exhausted mess.

But wait, there's more.

Before we knew for sure we were adding to our family, I felt like I needed another outlet. Something a little more regular than my paid writing gigs and that required slightly more different brain cells than it does to mother my kids 24/7. And so while I've never been a salesperson and have only ever hosted ONE direct sales party in my life, I signed up to be a consultant with Thirty-One gifts.

Yes, I knew I was pregnant when I did it. That really shouldn't surprise anyone that I'm that crazy.

In case those two things weren't enough, Hubby and I started taking a look around at the chaos that is our house. Our dear, sweet house where we brought our first two babies home. Our first house in the nice neighborhood with awesome neighbors I wouldn't trade for the world.

But the actuality is, no matter how big we thought it was seven years ago, we've about filled it to the brim. And now we're bringing another person here to live. A little person who will have a crap-load of stuff no matter how many clothes/toys/etc. I have from his or her older brother and sister.

I don't have an office. Hubby really doesn't either. Between the Other Woman and the New Other Woman, his tools and "workshop" the cars, the kids' toys and general storage, our garage is crying uncle.

N's room has a kick-butt new closet organizer, but it would be a squeeze to put both kids in there once No. 3 arrives.

You get the picture. So today, Mother Nature permitting, our realtor is coming with a "For Sale" sign for our house. If I think about packing up the contents of our house and physically moving all of our crap treasures for too long, I start to hyperventilate. Hubby isn't fazed. He is the master packer and could probably have our entire house packed in five evenings. My job will be to make up for my lack of strength and ability to carry anything since I'm pregnant by calling everyone we know and begging for help, once the time comes. We aren't looking to go far - we've settled into this school district and don't want to be any farther (or closer, really) to Hubby's job.

I hope our neighbors will forgive us.

And that I don't lose my ever-loving mind between now and well, forever...

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