As much as I’ve detested my figure and lamented the weight I’ve been carrying around ever since the second grade… I want my body back. Downstairs just moments ago, I was attempting to clear a path for the future transport of our washer and dryer; looking up at the storage shelves filled with boxes of papers and memories and computer stuff I was overwhelmed by just how helpless I am right now. It’s beyond frustrating.
I want to just grab some of these moderate sized heavy boxes and carry them upstairs and out to the van. But lifting things right now puts an unbelievable strain on my already stretched-to-the-limit stomach muscles. The baby is quite active and growing by a pound a week (while I’m gaining like seven! AH!) and I can’t exactly hold the heavy items close to my center mass and lug them around like I would otherwise.
But I want these things moved!!! I want to move us into our new house, and dammit I can’t. I keep packing more boxes that’ll need to be moved, only to find that once it’s filled and taped shut and labeled… there’s no way in H-E-double hockey sticks that I’m going to be able to even reposition it to start the next box.
This is going to drive me nucking futs. *sigh*
Saturday is the BIG move with all the furniture going over -and Mike’s organizing some guys so that all the really heavy things (washer, dryer, maybe a fridge) will already be moved by then. Either way, I’m going to have to either find a job that doesn’t require lifting or find myself SOMETHING else to do while they move it all. Again, we’re moving and I can’t be a part of the project. If I could even just make a stack of packed labeled boxes and situation them within sight of the front door I’d feel like I was accomplishing something, but I need fucking HELP to move them and that makes me feel like a damn invalid.