Prepping for immigration.
Years of discussions.
14 months applying for partner visa.
Daughter becoming dual citizen.
Mentally preparing ourselves.
Getting rid of things.
Keeping eyes on job market.
Prepping for shipping.
Saying goodbye to fur family.
Gathering information and records.
Setting money aside.
Downsizing going into overdrive.
Giving things away.
Mentally preparing toddler, as best one can.
Giving things away.
Excited sadness packing.
Leaving things behind.
Away we go, again.
Norwegian Airline awesomeness.
Boston is expensive.
Kansas City.. where is everyone… OH! Here they are!
So. Here we are. Three weeks and some change into living in a multi-generational home. It doesn’t quite feel like ours, but it feels warm and familiar. Everything is an adjustment - getting used to hugging people so often again. Driving again. Dating my husband again. Keeping to a routine for Peaches. Explaining just why we cannot pop over to her buddy’s homes anymore - but hey look at all your cousins! Spending time with my Grandma again. Lovely adjustments.
The job hunt continues, another adjustment. We were both so used to the fast paced London, where you apply and hear back almost immediately. I am trying not to panic apply, just take some deep breaths and cast my services net into the world. Something will come along, because I am not going to stop until it does!
Mom and Dad have their own bedroom again.
Opened bank accounts.
Renewed Driver's License.
Playdates for Peaches.
Date nights for Mom and Dad.
Ikea shopping U.S. style.
Going through boxed possessions.
Currently we’re almost completely reliant on my parents - which we hate BUT are accepting any help people want to give us. That is one thing that has changed in the years, accepting help. Because I cannot do everything on my own. No one can. We need each other. (This is what I keep telling myself! Adjustment!)
I am very glad to be home.
I was out on our fire escape painting a recently acquired second-hand crib on a beautiful London summer afternoon. The door buzzer went marking the arrival of some plumbers to do some needed apartment maintenance. I, wearing painting attire, my husband’s oversized birkenstocks & holding the wet paintbrush in my hand, left the fire escape door and apartment door wide open to waddled downstairs to let them in the building.
Halfway down our door slams shut.
Picturing my keys hanging delicately inside my apartment on the wall - I walk into the bank below us (we share fire escapes) hair high as a cockatoo, shuffling in trying not to drip paint and not panic about the cat possibly escaping the apartment through the open outside door (she is not an outdoor feline).
After 30 minutes of these shenanigans we (the workers, foetus & I) made it back into the apartment and find kitty asleep on my bed unaware of her one chance to freedom.
So if a baby is anything like a house cat, well, I’m going to be fine.
I’m going to be fine.
Not an instructional blog but the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth - so help me Mom.