We’ve moved, again. This time, within the same city, but what a production nonetheless! When we moved from London to Vancouver, Elliot was that bit younger and it didn’t seem to bother him. This time around, whoa. For the month before it was a constant discussion of what was going in the truck and what was going in the car (the dog is not going in a box in the truck, no). The few nights before he would wake up crying and telling me he didn’t like all the packing boxes. My heart went out to him, because I hate change, even when I know it is for something better. There were a few times I wanted to cry in this whole process too.
Now we’ve been in our new apartment for about four days, and the unpacking goes on and on and on and on. We have the benefit of moving into a larger place, so at least there is space to move around. Our new neighbourhood is a 2-minute walk to the seawall, has lovely playgrounds and some neat new parks to explore nearby. I’ve already had offers of tea and a chat from three different neighbours. This feels right.
Though, if any of you could put in a good word with the unpacking fairy, I’d be ever so grateful.