The Pregnant Girl's Guide to Packing Up and Moving to Who Knows Where

A lot has happened since that fateful New Year’s Eve when I peed on a stick, saw two lines, and cried tears of joy and terror for five minutes straight. Just a few days ago, the pregnancy app on my phone kindly informed me that I was nineteen weeks pregnant. My thought process went something like this.

Oh, nineteen weeks, huh? Sensory development… Proportional limbs… Wow, I’m like, halfway there… Wait. I’m halfway there. CRAP I’M HALFWAY THERE! OH MY GOSH I’m having a BABY.

Panic mode: engaged.

Despite how miserable I’ve been feeling, time is flying by. The clock is ticking and there is still SO MUCH to do. Find a pediatrician, register at the hospitals, take classes, obtain the necessary gear, set up a nursery, make freezer meals, oh yeah, and FIND A PLACE TO LIVE.

Panic mode: increased.

Unfortunately, we have to move out of our current abode due to some circumstances outside our control. And we have to be out by May 15th. We’ve been actively searching for a place to live since the moment we found out we had to move, and have had zero success. We began with rentals, then explored the idea of buying, and then connected with a great realtor and saw a bunch of houses. In fact, we actually found a house that we really liked and made an offer. But last week, the seller completely rejected our offer, with no explanation and no counter offer. And the best (read: worst) part is that the seller has no other offers and is having an open house! This has left us feeling completely bewildered, discouraged, and stressed. May 15th is creeping closer by the minute and we have no place to call home. (Let me interject here to state that we have a temporary living place lined up, so we won’t be living in our cars.) But honestly, I wanted to be settled in our new home before baby comes. Quite a few women have said to me things like “Oh, we moved when I was eight months pregnant. Just have your husband do all the heavy lifting,” or “we had to live with my parents with our newborn until we found a house.” I know it’s doable, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it like that. I mean, really, who wants to move with a newborn?! I’m not crazy for wanting to avoid that, right?

On a more serious note, this house hunting business is a lot more stressful than it has been in the past (this will be our fourth home in four years of marriage), because now we have another person that we are responsible for. Not knowing where I’m going to lay my child down to sleep every night is killing me. I know babies don’t need a lot (trust me, everyone has let me know this), but the weighty responsibility of first-time parenthood is overwhelming at best, and failing to provide a home for my child is crushing.

But I take comfort in the fact that other women have experienced this before me. Like, I don’t know, JESUS’S MOM. I mean, come on, that woman totally did not have her act together. She didn’t have a perfectly decorated nursery, with all of baby Jesus’s clothes prewashed and lovingly folded, and I’m willing to bet she never took a single class on Lamaze or the Bradley Method. Yes, I am aware of how ludicrous this sounds. But I can’t help but wonder what her thoughts must have been as she traveled to Bethlehem with her unborn child. How did she feel about the fact the she was entrusted with the Messiah and couldn’t even provide a home for him, or a place to give birth to him? Talk about pressure. Or how about the millions of women all over the world who are displaced due to political turmoil, forced to leave their homes because a bomb fell on it? (Let’s pause to reflect on the fact that Jesus, too, was a refugee: Matthew 2:13-18.)

So I’m caught in this place of recognizing that my situation isn’t as bad as it could be, but also feeling really stressed out, discouraged, and slightly fearful. I’m not sharing this with you to seek pity or affirmation, but just to be transparent about what’s going on in my life. As women, and as moms, we get caught up in this idea of what we think our lives are supposed to be, and I’m here to say that it doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, and that’s okay. This is so far from the sunshine-and-roses pregnancy that I had dreamed for myself, because quite frankly, that’s often how it’s portrayed. It’s okay for things to be difficult and not according to plan, because that’s just life, and that’s how we grow. I (and you) do not ever need to feel ashamed about not having the ideal pregnancy, house, life, or anything else.

If nothing else, at least I know I won’t have to give birth in a stable.

(Note to self: avoid all stables until after the baby is born.)