In January it was decided that my baby shower would be held at my house.  Because of its open floor plan, it made sense.  It’s a great party-having house.

It also made sense to make the shower the goal date for the completion of the nursery.  There will be upwards of 20 women in my house, and I’m sure they’d like to see where this baby they’re celebrating is going to be sleeping (please, God, let her sleep…).

In January, I was like, “Hey, beloved husband of mine.  We need to have the nursery done before the shower at the end of April.”  And that beloved husband of mine said, “Sure, no problem, wife.  It will be done.  IT WILL BE DONE.”

It is not done.

My mother arrives at 9:30 tomorrow morning, and it is not done.  There are curtains to be hung.  Touch-up painting to be finished.  Decorations to be placed.  And the Taj Mahal light has to be installed.

My husband has virtually no experience installing any lights at all, let alone a Taj Mahal light.  Hell, we don’t even know what kind of light bulb to get.

Now, let me clarify: the nursery is plain and boring (and so, so pretty).  We don’t have many decorations.  Everything is pale and pastel.  So we (and by we I don’t mean me and Allan.  I mean me, my mom and Jenn) decided to hang a statement light.  A very, very girly, slightly ridiculous, statement light.

It’s still in a box on the floor (of the unfinished nursery).

I’m a really nice wife.  I make dinner for Allan.  I pack his lunches.  I go to his soccer games (and sometimes even pretend to watch the action on the field).  I clean his bathroom vanity and I even go into the mountains when I’m really a beach kind of girl.  But I recently told him that if the nursery isn’t finished on time, I’m going to cut his balls off.

It’s not like he had no notice, no time to plan.  Because he did.  He had more than three months.  And in case you’re wondering why all of the responsibility is falling on his broad shoulders, it’s because he wants it that way!  He kicks me out of the room.  He tells me it’s not big enough for both of us to be in there, so get out!  Get out!  I want to do this by myself!


This is evening numero eight in our new house and we are tired.  And uncomfortable.

First, let’s just be clear: I’m a very, very lucky girl.  Very lucky.  And I know it and I’m beyond grateful for the good things happening in my life.

Now that you don’t think I’m ungrateful, I’m going to bitch.

This process has been rough.  I’m not a crier, and I’ve been crying on and off all week.  I’m not hormonal.  I’m overwhelmed.

Leaving the townhouse was really emotional for me.  There were a lot of beautiful memories tied up in that place.  Plus it was familiar, it was comfortable, it was my home.  Leaving it was solid, irrefutable proof that my entire life is changing in enormous ways.  And I’m not ready for it to change.  I loved living in that little townhouse, just me, my boy and my dog.  It was bliss.  I so dearly loved that phase of my life.

Now I’m in this big, empty place, and it doesn’t feel like home AT ALL.  I suspect it’s partially because the largest space in the house is bare-ass empty.  And there are no curtains, very few blinds, no photos, no decorations – there’s nothing that indicates we’re doing anything here other than squatting.

We’re working on that, though.  But first, before we started in on the new place, we had to get the townhouse in good shape, which involved daily trips over there to paint, sand and scrub.

And we still have to unpack the dozens and dozens of boxes waiting for us in the garage.  Allan has a goal to park in there come February 1, and right now it’s overloaded with boxes.  There will be no parking anytime soon.

Plus, we’re finding that at least 25% of those boxes contain stuff that we don’t actually want anymore.  There’s a lot of sorting in our future.

Although we still live in a suburb of Raleigh, it’s not close to our old life.  We’re very familiar with this area – and it’s a great area – but it still seems foreign to me.  Yesterday we had to venture through our old neighborhood to run some errands, and I was so happy to be near those street signs and landmarks and grocery stores – I felt such relief.

We’re not even sleeping well.  It still feels like we’re sleeping in a place that’s not ours.  You know how you can go to a friend’s house and know where the bathroom is and the towels are and where to find the snacks, but it’s not yours?  That’s how we feel.  We can’t fully relax, and because we’ve been so incredibly busy AND unable to relax, we’re just walking zombies.

We’re walking zombies with a giant dog attached to our hips because Murphy isn’t comfortable, either.  He’s having a hard time adjusting and is having some anxiety/attachment issues right now.  Like, when Allan leaves the house to go run an errand, Murphy cries at the window.

That’s one dog situation, but there’s another.  And oh, I hate it.  I hate it to the core of my being.

We’re on the last street of this community.  Our yard and the yards of our neighbors (five houses on this street total) butt up against a 2+ acre piece of land, so we don’t have any houses in our backyard, which is really nice.

But there’s a dog back there.

A big, old (or just dirty?), shaggy dog.  He lives in a small pen.  Which is overgrown with weeds.  And he is never let out.  Since we moved into the house, the weather has been awful – grey, cold, windy, rainy, very little sun.  And he’s been outside in all of it.  He cries a lot.  Is it because he’s hungry?  Thirsty?  Cold?  All of the above?  It breaks my heart.  I hear him cry and actually beg him to stop.  Please, please, please stop crying.  I say this out loud in my bedroom or living room or any room in my house from which I can hear him.  But he can’t hear me begging him to stop.

I get that we moved to the country and that in the country – and in the South – some people treat their dogs as if they are just that: dogs.  But as far as I’m concerned, they’re abusing that dog.

What the hell is the point of having a dog outside in a pen?  Why?  What do you get out of that?  And what kind of life is that for the dog?

Allan said to mind my own business, that it doesn’t have a direct impact on me.  Except that it does.  I live here now.  There is another family that lives here now.  And in a few months, there will be three other families living here.  The dog cries basically straight through from 7am through 8:30am – I’m assuming because he’s hungry – and it wakes me up.  It wakes Allan up.  I suspect it wakes our neighbors up.  So, you see, it is my business now.  And when I have a sleeping newborn, it will very much be my business.

I care far less about the sleep than I do the dog, but it’s my in, you see.  It’s my excuse to call animal control and demand that they check on the situation.  And I will call.

That situation is contributing a whole lot to my discomfort – I literally wake up every morning with an aching heart.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, I knew about the dog during construction.  Except I thought the dog was only outside when the people at that property weren’t home – I didn’t realize how overgrown the enclosure was, and didn’t realize that you often can’t see the dog.

I really don’t mean to seem so ungrateful.  The house is wonderful.  When it’s unpacked and decorated and has furniture, it will be even more wonderful.

But I’m overwhelmed.

So much can happen in nine days, which is how long it’s been since I updated this here blog o’ mine.

Actually, when I tell you what happened, it’s not going to sound like much.  But it is.  Oh, it is.

I moved.

That’s it.  I moved.  But do you have any idea how much work is involved in moving?

My goodness gracious, it was (and continues to be) a huge pain in the ass.  It’s no exaggeration to say that Allan and I have not stopped working/lifting/unpacking/sorting/scrubbing/packing since Thursday.

In addition to moving, we had to get the townhouse ready for its tenants and we had to do the whole Christmas thing.

Thanks to some wonderful, very, very helpful friends, we got 96% of our stuff in the house

by Saturday afternoon, and most of it is still in boxes in the garage, which we may never be able to pull our cars into.

The house is big, beautiful end empty.  Just last night we got some blinds on the master bedroom windows – the rest of the blinds are in boxes on the living room floor to be hung in stages.  I don’t think I realized just how exposed I felt with the lack of blinds, so I’m happy they’re on their way to all the windows.

With each box that’s unpacked, each photo that’s put on a shelf, and each drawer that’s filled, this structure is feeling more like home – but it’s going to take a while.  I still kind of feel like I’m staying at a friend’s house or
something; I’m starting to relax, but I’m not completely comfortable.  But I’m really happy to be here.

Our house looks like it’s been straight-up ransacked.  Because it kind of has.

We’ve torn apart the kitchen, our bedroom, our closets and bathrooms.  The guest bedroom is a holding tank for boxes, as is the dining room.  It doesn’t feel like home anymore, and for a while after we move into the new place, that won’t feel like home, either.

I’ll feel like a vagabond, except I’ll still have to go to work.  A vagabond, by definition, is someone who has no regular employment.  Which, actually, could be me with all of my layoffs. (But I’m happy to report that I recently celebrated two happy years with my place of employment.)

Although I’m super excited to move into our new house and am looking forward to turning it into our home, I fully recognize that no other structure will hold the special memories for me that the townhouse does.

Within those four walls, Allan and I decided to give us a shot.  He told me he was in love with me, and he asked me to be his wife.  It’s where we met Murphy for the first time, and it’s where we conceived our child.  It’s an incredibly special place for me and I’m going to miss it very, very much.

I’m also going to miss Raleigh.  Right now we’re five miles from downtown, and we’ll be 18 miles away in our new house.  Raleigh, though a small city, is a city none-the-less, and it helped me feel connected to my urban roots.  I love the energy and vibrancy of it.  I also love the restaurants, parks and festivals.

I love the convenience of where we currently live, that I can pull out of my community and be at a grocery store in less than five minutes.  But at the same time, the opposite is what I find charming about our new place; I will be able to drive for miles and miles without hitting a stop light.  I have never lived in an environment like it, and I’m excited.  And I’m apprehensive.

I have a whole bunch of emotions going on inside of me right now, and no, it’s not because I’m pregnant.  There’s just a lot of change going on right now and I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all of it.