We are a week away from the big move to Nashville. I have 3 more days of work next week, and then 4 days in the car with the kids. I've had company staying with us since May, but we have managed to pack quite a bit of the house. And life is good. I'm not good. I'm miserable. But from an outside prospective, I can, in fact, see that my life is beautiful.
It hurts to stand, sit, and lay down. I can't ever breathe. I have heart burn and allergies, and I my heart is breaking as I prepare to leave a wake of best friends and sisters behind me in the west as I travel east. The baby kicks all day, and I have visions of having to show up at the hospital in Nashville with three kids in toe and labor pains 2 minutes apart because I don't know a soul to leave my angels with.
But there is also a positive energy about coming to the end of the moving process. It means the baby is eventually coming. I means soon I can buy his new crib sheets. It means our family sticks together through all kinds of crazy. It means I have been blessed at least once in my life to open the map and pick the perfect place to live -- and then actually live there and love it. How many people get that choice? See, my life IS beautiful.
Just don't ask me to pack another box.
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