Moving

Okay, so, at some point between now and, well, I'm not entirely sure when but probably before October 1st, I will be moving. I believe the living accommodations have been procured (nicely kept half double on cute quiet cobblestone street for obscenely cheap rent next door to aging gay couple who also serve as landlords and one of whom also happens to be hard of hearing, which mean noise shouldn't be an issue). Aforementioned quaint couple/landlords met us and all but begged us to move in.

But yes, I did, in the course of that paragraph, mention the word "couple," and yes, my boyfriend and I and our collective children (his only on weekends) will be living in said accommodations together. If I'm being completely honest, much about this prospect fills me with complete and total anxiety. Please tell me that i am not the only person on the face of the planet who internalizes the word "move" or "relationship" or "commitment" and wants to run for cover! Seriously. It's not that I'm opposed to any of those things (and I am, in fact, very much looking forward to many of the benefits that will come with living with a person that I love). It's just that there is a lot of anxiousness involved on my part about:
a) the prospect of, and all of the little details involved in, moving into a new house (did I mention that it's possible that we might move next weekend? As in, like, 8 days from now? Jesus christ, I might honestly have a heart attack...)
b) said prospect of moving into a new house, which means that I am uprooted from my current routine and surroundings and have to be involved in and become used to a new routine and new surroundings which, though they will probably end up being good things, tend to always make me feel a little bit out of control for a bit (as I have told my boyfriend, if you were to call my mother right now and say, "So tell me about A and change," my mother would say, "Oh, no good. She's a mess during change. Let me tell you about the time when she was a baby and we had to take a trip from South Carolina to Mexico....")
c) moving into a house with and truly making a long-term commitment with someone, which involves such things as, oh, ya know, working through issues, being honest with yourself, accepting differences, compromising, etc.etc. (again, these are all good things, but nonetheless fill me with anxiety, to the tune of "Will we *really* be able to make this work in the longterm? Can a person really love me once they get to know me? Will we *really* be able to embrace the little joys in the everyday and have a good time together or will we let ourselves instead get bogged down with the everyday stressors that something break a relationship?" etc.etc.etc.etc.)

So. Pardon me for a moment while I take a hyperventilation break. (Have to change utilities, sign lease, get a couch, get a dining table, figure out how to build that fence, buy bedding for Selah's bed, buy bedding for our bed, buy furniture for J's room, figure out if we are allowed to rip up the carpet before we move in, PACK UP ALL MY SHIT--oh my god, consolidate bank accounts, figure out how to change direct deposits, call about moving trucks, put in forwarding notice at post office, figure out when to do walk-through with current landlord, get blinds fixed before telling current landlord that I'm ready to do walkthrough so that they aren't taken out of my deposit there, work fulltime, take care of toddler, do laundry, clean current apartment....)

Um, yeah. Crazy shit.

However, I know there will be many benefits to this situation, not the least of which being that I do love this person very much and that going to sleep next to him and waking up to his face every morning will be a welcome change. Not to mention that we will get to share the holidays this year. Not to mention that Selah will have her J to play with every weekend. Not to mention that we will be able to get a cat. Not to mention that I will no longer live in a tiny apartment in which I can hear every step, thud, furniture movement, and other activity perpetrated by the tenants in the apartment above me. Not to mention that I will never have to run down to a scary basement late at night by myself and freak out about what might be lurking in the corner waiting to get me. Not to mention that my little girl and I will become a part of a bigger family. Not to mention that sometimes it's pretty fucking fun to decorate a new place. Not to mention that consolidating bills is going to put me much further ahead financially than I've been for the last several years. Not to mention that a team often works much better at getting things done than a single. Not to mention that my boyfriend makes me laugh and likes to read to me and cook me dinner, all of which, I think, are good things to have in a roommate/partner. Not to mention that he often makes me feel pretty calm. And loved. And appreciated. And understood.

So yesterday when we were driving in the car, Selah was saying, "My daddy lives far away but my mama is right here." And I said, "Selah, does it make you sad that your daddy lives far away?" And she looked at me like I was a nutjob and said, "No, mom, I'm not sad!" And , even though I recognize that our new family will not be a replacement for her biological father, it was really nice, after that conversation, to be able to say to her, "Selah, when we move into our new house with B and J, they are going to be a part of our family. Won't that be nice?" And Selah smiled happily and said, "Yeah!"

So moving, in spite of the anxiety, should ultimately be a good thing. I suppose one would do well to remember that.