I “officially” move to Moncton on November 15.
It’s a bit of a joke, really, since I’ve been here for six weeks living out of suitcases and stashing a shared set of keys in a mailbox while also trying to mesh my schedule to someone else’s a little bit. It’s reminded me why I live alone. And, while I have more than appreciated the hospitality of my brother’s girlfriend, I really can’t wait to be in my own space again.
I checked in with Mr Hockey Coach to let him know I’d booked my U-Haul truck for the weekend, and he asked if I was excited. I have a lot of mixed feelings, to be truthful. F and I were finally settled back in Halifax. He loved his preschool, and we both felt safe there. Mr Hockey Coach was right around the corner. I worked with a good friend. All of my friends were there. This move meant saying goodbye to all of that, and starting over.
F started acting out and acting up a bit in the past few weeks because, at 4, he can’t possibly understand everything that’s going on. The first week was excruciatingly hard for me to be away from him. The second was anxiety-ridden. The third and fourth felt a bit like a vacation, honestly, but now I’m just aching to see him. Aching to hold him. Aching to sit at the table and eat Cheerios with him at 6:40 am.
Eighty-five per cent of my life is still in Nova Scotia, not including my furniture, clothing and other belongings. I look through four suitcases some mornings to try to find a sweater, only to remember I left it on the bathroom counter at Mr Hockey Coach’s house. I can’t wait to have hangers in a closet again.
I want to be excited, and in a lot of ways I am. I can’t wait to be in a 3 bedroom home. I can’t wait to let F play in the backyard. I’m excited to have a fresh start and I’m excited about the work I’m doing and the people I’m meeting. Right now, though, my life feels fragmented and it’s hard to see past the worry and stress and the what ifs that run on repeat in my head.
But in three days, I’ll be able to call my house home. So I’m focusing on that.