What doesn't kill you makes you pissed off and exhausted: or Moving!

So, we moved.

Like how I said that like it was no big deal?

Ha.

The only reason I haven't been blogging about the long, drawn-out home-buying-and-selling nachtmar which has dominated the better part of a year is because it is so unthinkably BORING I wouldn't want to punish you people with any of it.

Of course now that its over, I can punish away.

Here's the short version: The five of us were living in a one bedroom apartment. Before baby came, when it was just four of us, somehow it was OK. Not great. Pretty stinking miserable, but OK. For some crazy reason, during my pregnancy, I thought it would STILL be Ok once Baby came. I blame the hormones. That, and who, given any other alternative, even living with three kids and a husband in a one bedroom apartment, would ever want to tackle the misery of moving?

But as soon as Terza touched down, it became exceedingly clear that we would not be faring well if we stayed in our tiny place. Maybe if all of us, or even any of us, were more low-key, it would work. But all my kids, and David and me most of all are high-maintenance, loud, inflexible people who it is frequently hard to share a room with. And when you only have two rooms, total, and five people to share them, this means unpleasantness. It wasn't even that I minded so much hissing incessantly "Be QUIET! The baby's SLEEPING!" Or that I had to listen to the kids bicker non=stop or play the bongos or sing Phantom of the Opera for two hours straight. I have a high tolerance for stuff like that. It was nighttime that made everything unbearable.

Because my children, despite the fact that they have been doing it every night for 8, and 5 years respectively. STILL DO NOT KNOW HOW TO GO TO SLEEP. Also, they'd don't know how to stay asleep. The entire sleep department needs serious work. And, by the way, its not for lack of my trying. See old blog posts for evidence.

So the kids couldn't manage to quiet down at night, and thier ruckus threatened to wake the baby, and me, who -- deranged from sleep deprivation with my newborn -- wanted to turn in before 11 occasionally. Then, in the middle of the night, the baby would, of course wake, since she was a newborn and all, and then often, she'd wake one or both of the others, or they'd wake first nd get her up.  The first person to wake up in all these different scenarios was me, of course. It was a three ring circus. A shitty, cranky circus no one would ever pay to see with no tricks at all and just lots of screaming and under-eye bags.

It was so bad, in fact, that it made selling our apartment, finding a bigger one we would afford, buying it and then moving palatable. That's how bad we're talking.

Of course, we're here now and all's well that ends well. I got my Christmas present early this year and its called Deliverance from Moving or Return to (relative) Sanity.