I must say, moving with a baby is a pain in the ass, regardless of whether you’re moving across the country or one hundred yards from your previous dwelling. I can’t count how many times I smacked my feet into hefty boxes and tripped over the odd baby rattle while frantically searching for the lost paci. For endless days my new home was an obstacle course, designed to work my butt as efficiently as a few dozen squats and stabilize my core as would a bosu ball, all the while I settled in where I could for breastfeeding and diaper changing sessions.
Furniture and coffee were my top priorities. One day I put together my fantastically squishy glider/recliner and ottoman, convertible sofa, table and stools, and utility stand. My hands were angry with me at the end of the day, but my backside was happy it had something comfortable to sit on.
My mess, with Maya momentarily happy while playing in her jumper:
Nearly set up- just need a couple more throw pillows and mini-blinds with gauzy curtains:
My bedroom (well, Maya’s- she allows me to sleep in the same space) is a different story altogether. Disaster! However, I did put together a storage area for the little miss. She hung out in her bumbo and chatted with me while I pounded nails.
Sorting and organizing the pieces:
The finished product!
I simply want to settle in so that I can get back into my writing. I’ve felt my creative juices pulsating once again. I think that moving into a new place helps with the process of leaving the ache of memories and unfulfilled dreams behind. I can begin fresh (well, sort of). Maya is starting to amuse herself for greater lengths of time, which leaves me slightly more time to click away on my keyboard and kick out page after page of neon fiction.
A few more days and I think I’ll be good to go.