It's May 1st, which means that my family has 31 days left in our house. 31 days until we are officially roomies with my mother- and father-in-law, plus a dog and two cats. That makes a total of four adults, one baby, a dog, and three cats all living together.
(Here quote Dr. Peter Venkman a la Ghostbusters: "Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!")
I feel claustrophobic just thinking about it. The baby's not going to know any better. My poor cat - she has no idea what's coming.
Arg! I don't know where to begin. I need to pack. I know, I know, I said I was going to yesterday, but I had other (better) plans to help my friend Jeanette wedding dress shop in the city. Good times. The baby went, too, and had a great time until we tried to eat an early dinner at the local sports bar we all used to frequent. Too many TVs, sounds, neon flashing lights. It was sensory overload; it made Emmie fussy. Yes, I will admit it. I'm the jerk who took a baby to a bar. Guilty. What was I thinking? I hated those people when I didn't have a child. Well, now I know better.
Today Emmie has a checkup with her pediatrician, another reason to procrastinate. We love this guy. He is the perfect blend of knowledge, reassurance, and humor. He cracks me up. Being funny is a great characteristic of a pediatrician. He sets us new parents at ease. It wouldn't work out so good if he was, say, an oncologist. Definitely keeping him despite the longer trip we'll have to take after the move.
The move! I have to get started. Maybe go through my closet and get rid of old clothes. I could pack my china, but my I get sick in the pit in my stomach at the thought of anything breaking. I need motivation!
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