We're MOVING!

Did you see the title? It's totally true, we are moving ...

....from our two-bedroom, one-bathroom crappy apartment in Forest Hills ...

....to a (rented) two-bedroom, two-bathroom, TWO-STORY house in Forest Hills! [happy-style emoticon!]

We will now have:

• a bedroom that's across the hall from our daughter's room (instead of sharing a wall)
• a second bathroom for guests (fancy!)
  
• stairs (I'm losing the rest of my baby weight just thinking about 'em)
• no upstairs/downstairs neighbors (I like our current upstairs neighbors, but could do without the college kid downstairs blasting his video games at 1am)
  
• an office to house our desk and endless bookshelves (again, fancy!)
  
• a living room that's large enough to house our couch/TV/DVD shelves AND a dining table (fancy to the extreme!)
• a living room with windows and light (we're on the first floor, but we have no LR windows; sometimes it feels like we live in a hole in the ground)
  
• trick-or-treaters at Halloween (Yay! Oh, wait, that means I have to give out the candy I always buy "just in case." Not so "yay.")
• an attic for storage (I know, right?)
• a washer/dryer (Now I can wash out our bedding and towels as often as I'm supposed to, according to my allergist.)
• a beautiful new kitchen with a granite counter top! [drooling happy emoticon]

We've just signed the lease today, and handed over a lot of coin in checks, but it'll be worth it when we're set up and comfy and livin' large for the next two years - or more, assuming we re-up.

Of course, apres ce soir, le deluge ...

We have to tell our landlord that we're not renewing. I hate break-ups, and this feels like one.

We have to pack. Weren't we miserable dealing with packing a year ago, back when we had significantly less stuff and no baby (I was six months pregnant)? Yes, we were absolutely miserable. Now we have to do all that again, though at least it's a seven-minute drive between places (20 minutes if you walk it), instead of a Manhattan-to-Queens schlep.

I'm excited, but it's tough to be very excited when you know that you have a shitty 5-6 weeks in front of you.

-During college, I developed a coping mechanism for those times when I'd be carrying overstuffed grocery bags back to my apartment. My arms hurt, my hands hurt, and I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to handle my assorted aches and pains. But I thought to myself, "At some point in the future - say, 10 minutes from now - I'll be home, the groceries will be in the fridge, I'll be able to sit and relax and my current discomfort will be over." So I trudged on, remembering that there was an end point to what I was feeling, and knowing that I was moving closer to it.

What is my end point?

It's October 31st. Chris is watching TV in the living room, Audrey is in her playard, and I'm cooking dinner. Everything is unpacked and in its place. Everything in the kitchen is easy to reach, and everyone has room. The oven is on, but it's not hot in the kitchen because we have the windows cracked and there's cross-ventilation. (Also, the range hood vents outside!)

The doorbell rings, and I walk towards the front of the house, peering through the curtains in the front window, which is plastered in black bats. I open the door, am greeted by a chorus of "trick or treats" from Hannah Montanas and Kung Fu Pandas, chuck some Nestle Crunches and 3 Musketeers in plastic hollowed-out pumpkins (or whatever the kids use these days), and shut the door.

This scene will come in time. For now, gotta keep my head down and keep on trudgin'.