I'm on my couch, in my living room. MY living room. Doing very, very little. I breathe in, I breathe out. I occasionally forward through a commercial.
It would be bliss if I didn't have so much to do.
On Friday, we closed on the house. The couple selling it surprised us by arriving no longer pregnant. Baby girl was so new, she hadn't unfolded from that tight little newborn ball yet. I asked when the baby had come, and was told, "This morning."
Now, kids, that's dedication.
We spent the weekend cleaning things up on the outside and painting on the inside, with the help of my parents. Charlie's room is done and the girls' room is about 2/3 done. Quite a few things are unpacked. Most of the new appliances are in and running and all we're waiting on now is a dishwasher.
It has felt really good to come home after work each day. To come *home*. Even as piecemeal and piled up as it is, even though we're sleeping in the dining room, it's home.
Problem is, I'm exhausted. The perpetual motion and superhuman strength that have gotten me through these crazy two months is all gone. I keep getting not *quite* sick. For the past two days, I have come home and crashed.
I'm hoping that my magical energy boost will reappear on Friday, when we drop the kids off at school and leave town. (Don't worry--mom's going to come pick them up!) Friday, we finish packing. Saturday morning, we load up the big truck, clean up a bit, then head home. Sunday, we unload the truck. Then the true unpacking fun begins.
If I can stay awake that long.