Have I mentioned that moving recently has been somewhat traumatic? Have I mentioned the horrendous skin break outs from stress? The eczema on my hands from too many cleaning products? The anxiety and subsequent weight loss? The inability to regain my mojo in any form resulting in lots of take-away dinners resulting in all weight lost being gained back with interest?
Did I mention how I would wake up in this strange new house with the sensation of a steel plate lying heavy across my chest for at least a week?
Yeah. I have found moving house to be quite the challenge this time around.
My inability to cope highlights just how beautifully the boys have managed the upheaval.
Zee is but a babe. And little babes, though more aware than we sometimes give them credit for, are particularly resilient in times of change.
At almost four years of age, LD is more attuned to what is going on. I had worried that the move might compound the sense of upheaval he was feeling having changed rooms at daycare just weeks before. That move had proved unsettling for him so naturally I was concerned about how he might cope with further change – particularly with something major like his home.
In the weeks prior to the move, I had thought to box bits and pieces up slowly. This became impossible to do on any large scale because LD would fret when anything noticeable (framed pictures on the wall) disappeared. When I explained that I was packing things up to take to the new house (of which he had shown much enthusiasm), he would wail, Noooo, the pictures stay in this house! Pleeease!
As we got closer to moving day, more and more he would talk about how everything had to stay where it was, how we couldn't go to the new house, that he wanted to stay here.
I felt sick about it.
But once we were in the new house, he was amazing. While I was lying in my new bedroom, feeling like I was in a foreign land, LD slept soundly in his new room.
So I'm proud of my big little guy. He has certainly handled the move with far more grace than his crazy mother. Certainly, he has made no request for Valium at any time throughout the moving period. Proud, proud, proud.
He will be turning four at the end of the month and you just know I haven't got my shit together in time to organise any kind of party for the poor little bugger. Of course, I know a kid doesn't need a party every year but it's almost like he's earned one this time. But I can't see my way past dinner tomorrow night. I am not firing on all cylinders yet – in fact, I have been down a cylinder or two for just about as long as I can remember so it's possible I am running without the benefit of any slightly warmish cylinders at all. Which explains much…..
I do love this kid of mine. I am almost certain he deserves a better mumma than he got. Yesterday, he requested that I 'say sorry for uppingset me" and even though he had been a righteous little shit, I did apologise because fuck me, he probably had a point.
I just hope to hell that as I muddle through life in my hopelessly imperfect way that I am not adversely affecting his.