So we moved. To Florida from Louisiana.
It all started when we were trying to decide what to do for Christmas. I wanted his parents to visit us in Baton Rouge. His parents wanted us to visit them in Florida. Since everything was so last minute, neither trip happened. We decided to go visit them in Florida sometime in late January.
“If I were to get a job in Florida, would you want to move back?” My husband asked.
“Sure!” I said. I really did want to, I just didn’t think it would happen for a while.
We went to Florida, we had a fantastic time with family and friends. P really came out of her shell, and she LOVED the beach.
On Wednesday night my husband saw a job opening on LinkedIn and decided to send his resume. On Thursday night the company emailed asking him if he could come in for an interview on Friday, since we were going back to Louisiana on Sunday.
A couple of weeks later we we packing up our things to move to Florida. Wow, that was fast.
Since we only had a few weeks we stayed with his parents for a week, then spent two weeks borrowing a condo from some friends, then another week with his parents. During this time we were frantically looking for a house to rent and having the worst luck.
When we finally were able to rent a house, we couldn’t move in right away because our stuff was in storage in another town and we couldn’t get to it before they closed during the week. THEN the movers we hired to move everything one weekend didn’t show. THEN my husband went out of town so Miss P and I spent almost a whole week in the new house with no furniture and no internet.
Then we hired different movers for the following weekend, paid them a small fortune and got our stuff into the house. Now the unpacking begins.
In the midst of all of this Miss P decided she no longer wanted to sleep in her crib and climbed out of it. Um, kiddo, you’re supposed to wait until you are two for the toddler bed, don’t you know?
She’s still not sleeping through the night in her own bed in her own room, but we’re getting there.
PS – all you people who are pregnant again are making me jealous! We are DONE having kids, but it’s so exciting watching the rest of you!
I haven’t yelled at my daughter in over 24 hours.
I can’t believe I am able to say that. I can’t believe I have to say that.
We’re still in the midst of our move from Louisiana to Florida, though we are in Florida. We’re currently homeless, but staying in a borrowed vacation condo owned by a very generous friend.
On the way here, 400+ miles from our destination, our rental truck broke down. This fiasco included 5 hours roadside in the middle of the night with an exhausted, hungry toddler, a fight with the truck rental company, and eventually an overnight tow of over 400 miles. Thankfully the tow truck had a sleeper car.
We stayed with my inlaws for a few nights (the longest days and nights of my life). The house is filled with dogs and breakables, and I think I spent about 90% of my waking hours screaming “no!” and “get away from that!” and “stop!” as my poor, bored child tried to enjoy herself. Unfortunately, the waking hours were also very long since I couldn’t seem to sleep.
Our move had gone from well-planned to nightmarish. Since the truck was broken we couldn’t drive it to the storage facility, so we had to borrow a box truck from friends, hire some movers via Craigslist and move everything from truck A to truck B to the storage facility.
We got to the borrowed condo yesterday afternoon in the pouring rain. I hadn’t slept in 3 days, I had to walk around on eggshells with my mother in law and this poor sweet baby girl was bored, exhausted and frustrated. My anxiety level was through the roof.
Since we arrived we have: eaten, slept, napped, cuddled, snacked and enjoyed the moments of sunshine between rain storms. She is more relaxed and happy. I am more relaxed and happy. I haven’t had to yell, she hasn’t had to cry. Life is good.
We just have to find a real place to live now.
We’re in the middle of a long distance move, so things in our house are rather chaotic. The things that stay as “same” as possible have to do with Miss P’s schedule.
I completely forgot about the time change in all of the madness, so we didn’t get a chance to ease her into it. She has handled it pretty well. I haven’t.
This morning we were preparing for the usual library story time (our last one in Louisiana) and I was running a little late. I went back to my room in my pajamas and came back to the living room carrying the clothing I planned to wear for the day. This was so I wouldn’t be out of the room for very long.
Miss P oohed and aahed and exclaimed “BEE!” because I wasn’t wearing a top. I glanced at the clock – there was time for a quick nursing session before we needed to leave. She eagerly climbed up in my lap on the recliner and I leaned back, and… she took my shirt off the end table and draped it over my chest.
“No?” I asked.
“No, no,” she intoned.
I lifted the shirt up. “Boobie?”
She pulled the shirt back down and slid off my lap.
I felt a lump of fear in my throat. Are we done? Just like that? The unremarkable morning nursing session where I wasn’t really paying attention was going to be the last nursing session? Really?
I got dressed, trying not to think about it. I fought back tears all morning.
When we got home from library and errands Miss P matter-of-factly went to the door of the spare bedroom and pounded on it. This is where we go for naptime. I put her up on the bed and pulled up my shirt and she nursed to sleep.
I guess we’re not quite done yet.
Last week we went back to Florida to visit family and friends. When we left there I was 5 months pregnant, so most people there were meeting Miss P for the first time.
Over the course of the nine days we were there Miss P really came out of her shell. She’s still a little wary of almost all adults, but she loves other kids and dogs. It was great seeing her interact with others. There is precious little of that at home.
We realized a little while back that our current home base is quite isolating. There are some super nice people here, but most people here were born and raised here so their friends lists are all full up. There are conversations at baby boot camp or the library, but nothing beyond that.
For me it is compounded by my natural shyness and introverted nature. Not entirely my problem, though. My husband is so extroverted as to have conversations with furnishings, and he hasn’t made any friends here either.
Going back to Florida reminded us of what it is like to have friends and family nearby, people who know and love us and couldn’t wait to finally meet Miss P. The sunshine and warm beach days didn’t hurt, either.
We got back on Sunday, and Monday we went to the library for story time. One of the mothers pulled me aside after to get our address so she could send an invitation to her daughters birthday party. Her daughter is turning 2, and we’ve been seeing each other at story time for 6 months or so.
I’m thrilled for my daughter, even though I know she and this other little girl don’t really have a relationship – they’re just too young. I know it was my overtures with the other mom that got the invitation, and even so I still don’t feel comfortable going to their house where I don’t know anyone.
I will, though, if only for the experience for Miss P. At story time she was walking up to the other kids and saying hi and waving. She is really the cutest little thing.
And in other news, my husband sent out a resume while we were in Florida. He got an email that evening requesting an interview before we left town. He interviewed and we expected more news in a few weeks, but no. They want to fly him out there this weekend for a second interview.
Looks like we’ll be moving back sooner rather than later. Moving = ugh, but being back around friends again is a delicious thought.
PS – thank you WordPress for getting Zemanta back!
I recently got a friend request on Facebook from an ex. I’d been thinking about him recently (in a general way, as I was thinking about a topic with which he will always be entwined in my mind) and so I accepted the request.
He popped up to chat minutes later and we got caught up. He is married now, living up in the frigid north, and he has a six year old daughter.
I couldn’t remember if he and I had ever discussed having children. I knew we had discussed marriage, but I don’t think the topic of kids ever came up.
I know how Miss P is with my husband/her daddy. She adores him. She thinks the sun and moon revolve around him. When he gets home from work she squeaks and runs for him. Anytime he is home she is sure to be stuck to him. Their relationship makes my heart feel like it will burst. They are totally inseparable, those two.
I love it because I am a daddy’s girl. I have a wonderful relationship with my dad – he was even in the delivery room when my daughter was born! I’m so glad she has that strong male presence and that strong bond in her life, like I do.
So I asked my ex if he was a doting father. Is his daughter a daddy’s girl? He told me that they are planning a trip to visit his family in a few weeks and it will be just the two of them “so that will tell.”
I don’t know if he realizes it but that was a big fat NO. If you haven’t established a strong bond with your child by the age of 6, it seems unlikely you ever will.
I guess not every girl has to be a daddy’s girl, but it makes me a little sad for both of them. I’ve seen both my husband and my daughter blossom because of their relationship.
It’s only Day 2 of 2014 and I’ve already had enough excitement to last a lifetime. If there is never another repeat of today it will still be too much.
I’m in purge mode. The clutter around here is driving me crazy so I’ve got boxes stationed in most rooms so that I can just toss something in the box when I want it to go away. Today I decided that while we were out running errands I would drop a few things off at one of the many donation centers that dot the parking lots around town.
I had three plastic shopping bags full of books – books I paid good money for many years ago and then never even cracked open – and a bag of really fat clothes (as in, I don’t ever want to be really fat like that again). I popped the trunk lid open from inside the house, then gathered up these bags. Miss P was hot on my heels so I slipped out the front door saying “momma will be right back” and kind of kicked the door closed behind me.
Ten steps or less to the car, dump the items in the trunk, shut the lid. Ten steps or less back to the door. Which is locked.
The door knob itself wasn’t locked, but the deadbolt just above it was. The deadbolt cannot be locked from the outside without a key. Specifically the key that is on my key ring, sitting on the shelf next to the door. Next to my cell phone.
So, yeah, my almost-17-month-old locked me out of the house. The windows on either side of the door are frosted and leaded glass, so I really couldn’t see in. I pondered whether she could unlock the door and decided against it. I doubt she realizes she had locked the door in the first place.
My guess is when she tried to follow me she stood up on tiptoes to try the door and brushed the deadbolt latch with her fingertips, thus engaging it. She probably wouldn’t be able to undo this action, even if she knew what I was saying.
I ran next door to the neighbors and rang and knocked. The wife answered the door. “My daughter locked me out of the house. Can I borrow your phone? Does anyone here know how to pick a lock?” She called out “Rusty!” over her shoulder (her husband) and handed me the house phone. I called my husband twice and it went straight to voicemail both times. In all the time I’ve known him his phone has never gone straight to voicemail, ever.
Her husband slipped on some shoes, told me to go over and talk to the baby through the door to keep her occupied. I ran back home, banging and yelling through the door because I couldn’t see her. Rusty came over and went into the backyard. Through the back window into the living room he could see she was in the living room, happily watching TV, completely unaware.
He started trying windows. I knew they were all locked. He told me to go back to his house and get the cell phone to call my husband just in case. I got hubby on the phone and he said he would be there shortly. When I got back to our house the neighbor was in the yard. “I got in, and she doesn’t like me,” he said.
He had managed to jiggle the lock open on our bedroom window and climb through (leaving wet, muddy, leafy footprints on my bed, but who cares?), walked down the hall to the living room where she squawked indignantly to have a stranger in her house. Thank God he got in, but wow, my house is that easy to break into?
His wife told me it’s best when you have small children to keep a key hidden somewhere outside, just in case. She said this happens a LOT.
I was proud of myself. I didn’t get panicky until I realized I really couldn’t get in. I had hoped I’d left the spare key in the unlocked laundry room (not attached to the house) but no. I had hoped I had left the back door unlocked while doing laundry earlier that morning. Nope. Could I pick a lock? Probably not. Was there any way my daughter could hurt herself in the house? Probably, yes. Even her regular activities could result in injury without supervision (ie riding her rocking giraffe too vigorously and getting thrown).
I’m so grateful for helpful neighbors.