I am ansty. The end of Brad's job is drawing near. No Brad is not loosing his job, but the power plant is almost up and running. We've heard rumors of where we'll be sent, anywhere from Tim-Buck-Two to Kalamazoo. The rumors are a part of the job, so is the waiting.
Oh, crap! I didn't take this job, I shouldn't have to put my entire life on hold. But damn it, I did marry him. There was something about sticking with him during good times and bad in our vows. Mind you, this is in no way "Bad Times". I just feel like I am standing on the edge of the high dive, my toes curled around the edge of the board, my breath is caught in my chest in anticipation of the plunge, but I have to wait for the whistle to blow to start my inevitable decent. I am ready to take the plunge into a new town, I would just like to know what state that town is in.
Now I realize this will only be made worse once Turner is of school age, and I need to know where we're moving so I can pick the best school district to plop our nomadic butts down it. But now I have no pressing matters, so why not sit back and be patient? I am not patient, first off, secondly I am pregnant and the bigger my belly grows the crazier I get.
I need to know if we'll be in the hot sultry desert or the freezing snow covered mountains. Why? Because I need to buy things for this chap who is coming. She coming whether I have things ready or not. I'm in a bit of a panic mode. Yesterday after sorting through Turner's infant clothes to pull out what will be usable for my girl I got all wound up about cleaning out the garage. I had to find the boxes of baby clothes in the garage and while in there made mental note that my husband is a messy, unorganized slob. I try to leave the garage as a "Man habitat" Let him store tools where he wishes. This works for a few months until he needs me to find his tools cause he can't find them under all his crap. Then I come in, in a fury and take every thing out and put it neatly back in.
Add to my pissy state a fit throwing two year old and the day is complete. Turner has been on a tear today. Hitting me, telling me to "GO AWAY!!", I've even been bitten once. These days aren't often but when they happen they happen from sun up to sun down. I do not like having to whip Turner. I don't like having to put him in his room to punish him. I especially don't like being at odds with my favorite person in the world, but it happens. I don't beat him, but a well placed hand on the behind is necessary when I have been assaulted with a golf club.
My stomach hurts and I am tired today. My stomach hurts both from the unbelievable heartburn and from the strain of caring Turner up and down the stairs and across a large parking lot. Why do I carry a child who is physically able to travel of his own power? Because the little sucker threw himself on the ground kicking and screaming like a fool, I didn't want him to be run over. Just feeling like things are piling up. Too much to do, not enough of me to get all of it done. All of this is half delusional, I'll get most everything around the house done, my second child will not be born into forcible nudity, I'll pack the house up for the move with time to spare, and all this heartburn just means Tate will have a head full of hair for me to fix. Rationality comes in brief glimpses but I know it's out there. Some times you just feel like pissing and moaning.
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