We fish toys out from beneath the couch and toss them into a box behind me. For sorting, for collecting, and soon for packing away. She tries to reach her three-year old arms underneath to reach a far-in toy; the little one comes along and casually removes something from the box and toddles away. He told me earlier that packing with the two girls is like having six arms, only four are actively working against you. We laughed at that.
“Mama, are we getting ready for our new house?”
Yes girl, I say. We’re packing and getting ready. We’re not moving today though, not quite yet. We’re not ready yet.
I’m not ready for them to be in their big new room, to find curtains that fit new windows, which bookcase goes where, a toddler bed for the not-a-baby-any-longer. To unpack once again, finding where everything can fit.
I’m not ready for the new reality, the one that has me sleeping alone, he in another room. I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready, but oh, I see it coming so very fast. And then we will unpack, to see where we can fit in each others’ lives.
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