Why Moving Is Like Giving Birth

Moving sucks.  Sure, sure, great benefits after it's all said and done.  That, my friends, is why moving is like giving birth.  You 'forget' about the labor pains when you hold your baby for the first time...and yeah, that's kinda true.  I like to think of that memory loss as a little gift from Jesus because I sure as heck remember how bad kidney stones hurt; and would rather cut off my pinkie toe than go through that again!  But push a watermelon out my vajayjay?  Sure! Sign me up.  {Darn it, Jesus}

So because I'm being harassed to blog, here you go, you'll be wishing I was still unpacking after this non-sense.

You Always Lose Something:

You know it's going to happen, whether it be your favorite shirt, photos, your husband's shot glass collection; if I had a husband anyway, wait...your husband!  I lost him 2 moves ago.  Someday, somewhere down the line you will utter the words, "I must have lost it in the move".  I can only hope the tribe of Zhu Zhu pets did not make it to our new location.

After a baby, you have a lot to lose.  Your sanity, piece of mind, quiet, nice butt, pre-pregnancy figure, spur of the moment anything, oh and of course your soul.  No worries, I'm not a baby hater they are very cute after all.

The Unknown:

Hella stressful birthing babies, moving and preparing for either.  No mater how prepared you think you are, your water will break in the grocery store and it will snow 7 inches on moving day.  Guaranteed.

Shut Up And Rub My Back:

I can't speak to everyone's experience here, but when I'm giving birth for eleventy hundred hours {or four}, I just want everyone to shut up and rub my back.  Don't talk to me, don't cheer me on, and actually don't even breathe in my general direction.

Likewise, I could give a flying fig about what is going on during the moving process.  I don't care what your Nana said to you, about your shiny new engagement ring or your promotion...pick-up a box and don't talk to me until the truck is empty.  Yes, I am that charming.

Are You Excited?

No, not in the least.  Huh, of course I am!  The kid is using my bladder as a trampoline, I haven't slept in 3 months, and I feel a certain connection with the good year blimp.  Am I ready?  Goodness, I'll just keep her in there until she's fifteen.

Same song and dance and obligatory conversation piece when it comes to moving.  "Do you love it" or "are you excited"?  Sure.  As soon as the boxes are unpacked and I can find my hairbrush and spatula; all will be right with the world.  I'm pretty excited about the sleeping arrangements too, as I can't find the tools to assemble my bed.  Party time.

I'm Never Doing That Again:

Yeah, you've said it.  Kids.  Moving.  Yep.

The end.

I haven't forsaken you, dear readers.  Sorry I haven't visited your blogs, answered your phone calls or emails, ignored your texts and have only briefly scanned Facebook twice in five days.  I assure you I am not dead, but may have just narrowly escaped.

{Missed all you dear people, glad to be back}