This New House
In two days we will vacate our home forever and move into our new house. This is our new house:
We are going from 2200 square feet to 3300 square feet. We are going from four small bedrooms with even smaller closets to four large bedrooms with walk-in closets. I’m going from one triangular shaped useless linen closet to each bathroom having its own linen closet; from no storage closets to four storage closets. You get the idea. We are upgrading in almost every regard.
Currently my life is filled with boxes and paper and trash and laundry. I’m busy preparing both myself and the kids for this new change in environment and it seems unbelievable to me. I’m excited, I’m nervous, and I’m stressed. For the time being this is a bit of farewell. After Wednesday I won’t have internet access again until Saturday and even if I did I’ll be too crazy making sure that every last bit of Barbie accessories and Star Wars action figures makes it into new bedrooms. Wish me luck and let’s hope I don’t go into labor!
This Old House
The house is sold. The new house bought. The closing date is set (Jan. 21st). Movers hired. All that is left to do is pack and prepare myself for leaving my home for the past nine years. I’ve never lived anywhere long enough to become emotionally attached to a location and so this is a new experience for me. This is what our house looked like when we first bought it:
When David and I bought that house we had $10,000 in savings and thought we were rich. We were young newlyweds and this house seemed HUGE. David was so excited about home ownership that the day we closed on the house he immediately ran to Home Depot, bought a lawn mower and mowed the yard. People assume that I’m sentimental about the memories we made here with our kids, but honestly, I’m more misty eyed about David and I being young and married without kids.
It was during the first six months of our marriage that I stood in our bedroom folding laundry. I don’t remember what started the fight and indeed I don’t even remember what the fight was about. What I do know is that it was heated and we were shouting at each other and I was folding socks with noticeable passion. David let out a loud “AAAARRGHH!! YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY!!” and stomped off down the hall towards the front door. I then heard a loud BAM! And then David exclaimed “OH SHIT!” Feeling absolutely no sympathy for whatever problem he created for himself I shouted back, “WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED?” David paused and then sheepishly responded, “I punched a hole in the wall.” David is the least violent person I know. As a matter of fact one of the things that attracted me to David was his gentle, calm spirit even in the face of adversity. This sudden outburst of violence was so uncharacteristic of him that I thought he was joking. As I started to walk down the hall towards him I shouted, “ARE YOU JOKING?” and at this he started laughing. When I arrived where he was standing there was about a 5-inch diameter hole in the wall.
The wall in our brand new house.
The wall that was right by the front door.
The door through which our 8 dinner guests were going to be walking through in about 5 hours.
We looked at each other and I muttered, “you’re an idiot. You know you have to fix that now?” David quietly nodded. We both stood in silence looking at the hole for a moment and then started giggling. David turned to me and said “please don’t tell anybody tonight that I punched a hole in the wall.” I instantly understood his embarrassment. David is not at all the kind of guy known for violent or angry outbursts and he knew what he had done was childish. He didn’t want any of his friends to know. I understood.
Our first guests arrived for dinner and as they stood in the foyer Chris, the husband, said “hey, what happened to your wall?” David and I hadn’t discussed an alibi and so I stood silent. David jumped in and said “oh, I was hanging some pictures and the ladder went into the wall.” We all stood looking at each other. Chris smirked, nodded and said “dude, you punched a hole in the wall.” Busted.
David patched the wall. His first drywall patch job and it was beautiful. To this day you can’t tell where the hole had been. And yet, I can’t walk past that spot without thinking about that hole. The hole that the new owners know nothing about. The hole that was symbolic of that first year of marriage. The hole that taught David and I that sometimes laughing at your argument is far more productive than fighting in the first place.
When I think about leaving this house it is those memories that I will be the most sad about leaving behind. Lazy Sundays watching football together. Collapsing on the couch together after a party. Laying in bed worried about living without an income or not getting pregnant. David and I spent the first nine years of our marriage in this house – laying the foundation that one needs to weather the storms of life. It is these early years of navigating our differences, our strengths, our love that I will be sad to leave behind.
Welcome To Hell
I don’t understand women who love being pregnant. I can understand being so-so with it, or being resigned to it but loving it? Yeah, who are these people? Overall I have pretty normal, uneventful pregnancies and for a woman of my “advanced maternal age” I’m grateful for that. I experience the usual spectrum of uncomfortable symptoms; indigestion, a little nausea, some back aches, etc. Usually my ailments are manageable, non-dangerous and uneventful. That is, until now.
Last Wednesday the baby “dropped”. I know she dropped because I had an entire day of painful contractions followed by the feeling that a little person was sitting on my rectum. When considering the possibilities of where a child could place itself in your body the rectum is not a “happy” place. After three or four days I began to notice that something didn’t “feel” right. It became painful to stand, sit, walk. I chalked this up to late pregnancy discomfort and marched on with my daily activities. By Sunday I was in P-A-I-N and discovered that my sweet little girl had given me hemorrhoids. I’ve NEVER in my entire life had a hemorrhoid. Why? Why would God do this to me? Why?
I sheepishly divulged my discovery to David who responded by laughing for ten minutes and telling me to not be such a baby. I punished his insensitive remarks by making him go to the drugstore to buy hemorrhoid cream and NOTHING else. Thus drawing acute attention to the embarrassing product he was purchasing. Having never experienced this particular ailment before I consulted “Dr. Google” who assured me that I would be fine in a couple of days with rest and warm baths. Except it wasn’t getting better it was getting worse. And every time I complained about the pain David seemed exasperated and would utter; “it is just hemorrhoids. Lots of people get them”. I’m sure many people do have them but how do they function?
On Tuesday I woke up to the sight of a lot of blood. I instantly wanted to do a victory lap around the house screaming to David “SEE! I WAS NOT EXAGGERATING! I WAS IN REAL PAIN AND THERE IS THE PROOF! I’M DYING!” However, the acute pain and the ax-murder-esque scene in our bathroom was a bit distracting. I called the doctor with the announcement that something was “WRONG” and how did I know that? Dr. Google told me. My doctor though, being the professionally trained medical person that she is, was not worried.
What happened at the doctor’s office can only be classified in the department of both horrifying AND embarrassing. Just when you think your children can no longer embarrass you any longer the one within your womb finds a new low to pull you down to. Both frustrated and frightened I made David come into the examining room with me. I’m afraid he may never touch me ever again. Of course David found this to be a great opportunity to make jokes at my expense and the doctor, sensing his jovial nature, joined in. I, on the other hand, being naked from the waist down and feeling a whole new type of physical violation just focused on not throwing up.
And this, this combination of pain, disgust, embarrassment and physical horribleness – do these women who LOOOOVVEE being pregnant never experience this? Or do they find this as a great way to get attention. Because honestly, right now, while I type this, I have both children climbing on the couch I’m resting on whining and hitting each other. There are more dirty dishes than clean dishes in the house. There are more toys on the floor than on the shelves. My children are living off of goldfish crackers and juice boxes (and I can’t promise they haven’t shared the kitty food with the cat). And this is supposed to be a “magical” time in my life? This is supposed to make me feel beautiful and wonderful and a vessel for God’s miracle of life? Because the only miracle happening in my life right now is the fact that David and I haven’t killed each other or the kids. Or possibly that the health department hasn’t condemned our house.
David promises me that some day – some day soon – I will look back on this and laugh. Maybe I will, but right now all the laughing is happening through tears.
