|Do not attempt unless you have help, i.e. Dad.|
Thanks to a recent doctor visit, I now know that when I lug both children from the car into our apartment building, I am carrying an extra 48 pounds 10 ounces. The 18 and 10 ounces are Margot, Theo is 30. Theo is 37.25 inches, which is .75 inches away from heaven, meaning the play area at IKEA.
I have thought a lot about this doctor visit. I scheduled it probably a day after I knew we were moving for sure. I find security in the familiar--and I knew that in Portland I had a wonderful, Harvard-educated-but-used-to-be-a-schoolteacher pediatrician and that her assistant Helen would sling the fastest rounds of shots I have ever seen in my life. These type of details become paramount when I remember how I sat and watched poor Margot scream as a previous assistant in New Mexico gave three shots in two legs with long pauses between. Horrors!
So when I saw Helen's friendly face calling us back to the exam room, I almost got misty-eyed and I definitely gave her a side hug when she remembered us. I knew the potential for awkwardness was high but I did not care one bit.We were back! For reals.
Not every part of our move has been this hug filled. Sure, I was so happy to be back but the first week or two I did not anticipate how out of kilter and out of place I would feel, moving to a different part of Portland (technically not even Portland) that was not what I was used to. Even though the Portland I was used to was living in a dark, tiny, ant-filled cave off of a busy highway across from an Albertson's, and now we live in a much bigger lighter place that is still off a busy highway down the street from an Albertson's. I drove past our old place in the first few days and I missed it. I worried that this huge life decision of settling down in a location possibly for life may have been wrong. I was experiencing what you could call moving anxiety, which happens even when the change is highly positive and exactly what you wanted. Malorie from six months ago would have slapped me. Multiple times. But it just happens, turns out. It's a highly google-able condition and luckily passes quickly. I of course did not contract a full blown case of moving depression, which definitely happened in T or C and caused me to blow through almost all my placenta pills, which are magical little hormone capsules but did not magically transport me back to Oregon IN a tiny capsule. They can only do so much. Or so little?