I am an idiot
Losing my cell phone during the move is one thing; but I also seem to have pulled a muscle, or done something of that nature, to myself during the move. I have a most dire pain in my side. I'm going to wait and see if it goes away now that the worst of the move is over, and if not I guess I'll have to call my doctor. I have no one to blame but myself, since everyone kept telling me to sit down. Apparently, I am extremely stubborn. I could not bring myself to stop working.
After all the nostalgia I've been feeling for my old apartment, let me tell you what I will not miss: our managers. The man is surly and mean, and the woman is fakey-nice. She came by at around 9 last night to breezily inform me she expected the apartment to be completely clean, in perfect condition for the next tenant, by the next morning, so that she herself wouldn't have to do "any cleaning at all." (Not that the place was that clean when WE moved in, mind you.) She said the painters would touch up the paint job, but the rest should be completely taken care of by me and Mark. Now this woman could SEE me-- I am pretty sure I was visible to her, and not standing in some bizarro science-fiction forcefield that rendered me invisible to the human cornea. There I was, exhausted and sweaty after three days of moving--negotiating three steep flights of stairs at our old place and two at our new--with my big old belly sticking out, and cleaning fluids and towels in my hands, gaping at her as she gave me this lecture. I told her I was doing everything I possibly could to make the place clean, but that at some point physical necessity might compel me to stop, and that would be that. I would have been much ruder to her except that they still have our security deposit, which is large, and we really need it back. I think, despite everything, the place looks great and that we should get back most of it-- IF the managers play fair.
The lesson in all of this is... well, let's see. Number one, Mark and I have TOO MUCH STUFF. It has been hellishly bad, despite the fact that we hired movers-- despite the fact that my mom was helping for four days and four nights-- despite the fact that our kind friends Debbie, Michael, John, Rachel, Dave, and Samantha pitched in to help (thank you so much-- we could not have done it without you and we owe you eternally!). When, with all this assistance, it is STILL hellish, you know you have too much stuff. And the second lesson: please do not move while six months pregnant. We were thinking it would be worse at seven or eight months, or that we'd have to wait and move with a baby, which would be very hard, too-- so I still think we probably picked the best of our options. But I would not recommend it to anyone out there-- better to move well before the six-month mark, if you can!
Dear, dear me. I am proud of myself, because I survived and I think the place now looks pretty darn good, but if anything happens to this pregnancy because of a stupid move, I don't know what I'll do; I'd be devastated, in all honesty. So... hello in there, baby? Are you all right?? Yeah... I don't know. Believe me, I have not been able to keep count on my "kick chart" these last few days. I can't wait till my next appointment, when hopefully I can find out a little bit about how things fare with her!
After all the nostalgia I've been feeling for my old apartment, let me tell you what I will not miss: our managers. The man is surly and mean, and the woman is fakey-nice. She came by at around 9 last night to breezily inform me she expected the apartment to be completely clean, in perfect condition for the next tenant, by the next morning, so that she herself wouldn't have to do "any cleaning at all." (Not that the place was that clean when WE moved in, mind you.) She said the painters would touch up the paint job, but the rest should be completely taken care of by me and Mark. Now this woman could SEE me-- I am pretty sure I was visible to her, and not standing in some bizarro science-fiction forcefield that rendered me invisible to the human cornea. There I was, exhausted and sweaty after three days of moving--negotiating three steep flights of stairs at our old place and two at our new--with my big old belly sticking out, and cleaning fluids and towels in my hands, gaping at her as she gave me this lecture. I told her I was doing everything I possibly could to make the place clean, but that at some point physical necessity might compel me to stop, and that would be that. I would have been much ruder to her except that they still have our security deposit, which is large, and we really need it back. I think, despite everything, the place looks great and that we should get back most of it-- IF the managers play fair.
The lesson in all of this is... well, let's see. Number one, Mark and I have TOO MUCH STUFF. It has been hellishly bad, despite the fact that we hired movers-- despite the fact that my mom was helping for four days and four nights-- despite the fact that our kind friends Debbie, Michael, John, Rachel, Dave, and Samantha pitched in to help (thank you so much-- we could not have done it without you and we owe you eternally!). When, with all this assistance, it is STILL hellish, you know you have too much stuff. And the second lesson: please do not move while six months pregnant. We were thinking it would be worse at seven or eight months, or that we'd have to wait and move with a baby, which would be very hard, too-- so I still think we probably picked the best of our options. But I would not recommend it to anyone out there-- better to move well before the six-month mark, if you can!
Dear, dear me. I am proud of myself, because I survived and I think the place now looks pretty darn good, but if anything happens to this pregnancy because of a stupid move, I don't know what I'll do; I'd be devastated, in all honesty. So... hello in there, baby? Are you all right?? Yeah... I don't know. Believe me, I have not been able to keep count on my "kick chart" these last few days. I can't wait till my next appointment, when hopefully I can find out a little bit about how things fare with her!
posted by Sarah Goss at 1:12 PM
6 Comments:
Hi Sarah,
Selfishly, I want to point out that the reason Sarah was beset by our manager without me there working alongside her was that I took a long overdue dinner break -- to get a burrito -- while it all happened. I wasn't sitting around doing nothing while Sarah worked by herself.
Having said that, though, I feel terribly guilty. Sarah should not have felt compelled to work so hard; I could have done a lot more, so that she would have had to do a lot less. I'm sorry, honey. If anything goes wrong because of your straining yourself, it's my fault. You did an amazing job, though. Here's to our NEW place!
How dare you eat a burrito while I work myself to the bone! Just kidding. No, it wasn't Mark's fault AT ALL! I was necessary to the process. Besides, people kept telling me to sit down and I kept foolishly not sitting down. No need to feel bad. I am feeling a little better today, anyway! Hope our new place comes together soon--I think it'll be cozy. It's just a stressful interim.
Albert,
It was a steak burrito -- carne asada - super. It had sour cream and guac, pinto beans, rice, salsa, and steak. I violated my cholesterol strictures a bit (though no cheese!), but I was starving and tired, needing nourishment and encouragement for the remaining hours of labor.
Too much burrito talk; not enough sympathy for ME.
Just kidding.
I'm hungry now.
ooooooooooh sarah - i am sooooooo sorry and look how sympathetic I am!!!! poor poor sarah! what bad timing to have such an awful interaction. :( I hope your pulled muscle is better, cause my hamstring and I understand just how awful that can be!!!!
Thank you, Arwen! I hope your hamstring is better. I am feeling a little better myself since the move ended, though there seem to be ever-new pains as my belly gets bigger (back pain is happening-- seems to be the expected with all this new weight in front).
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