My mother is moving in with us.
Seeing it in writing like that actually made me catch my breath, and I can feel the flutters of panic in the pit of my stomach.
I love my mom. Really. And I’m so happy that Connor will get to know her and spend time with her. He hasn’t seen her since he was a baby, because she lives so far away. It’s just that it’s a big change. For everyone. The entire household dynamic will be altered with the addition of another person.
Oh, and another dog. Yeah. There will be, count ’em, 5 people and 4 dogs in my house. Is my fear and trepidation beginning to take shape now? Oh, and in addition, she will be here in less than 2 weeks!
So. The only uninhabited bedroom was, in fact, Connor’s small toy room. So small that there was no way my mom and her stuff would fit comfortably in there. The only reasonable solution was to merge Connor with his toys, together in the toy room, and prepare his old room for grandma.
“But I like my room, I don’t want to move.”
“All my stuffed animals like that room and they don’t want to go to the toy room.”
“What about my pictures? And my books? And my clothes?”
It took some time to assure him that all his things would move with him to the other bedroom. Except the carpet and walls. I clarified this for him because he was unclear as to what was considered moveable and not moveable.
Finally, after more negotiation, I had
a total and complete nervous breakdown an honest conversation with him about the situation, and asked for his help in solving the problem. Of course, he came to the same inevitable conclusion about moving his room.
It killed me to have to ask him to do it. Like I don’t already have enough parental guilt, right?
Anyway, when we commenced to moving his furniture, hubs flipped up his bed and this is what he found:
Socks, toys, a comb, candy wrappers….it was a veritable wonderland of trash and crap. No wonder he didn’t want to move, he knew his hiding place would be ferreted out.
With much pushing and cramming and organizing, we have managed to fit all of Connor’s things into the former toy room. Barely. There wasn’t much room to spare, so let’s hope he doesn’t have an abrupt personality change and decide he actually wants to play in his room.
So far, the change hasn’t caused too much stress. Except to me, but I digress. Connor has slept in the new/old room each night, at least until about 2am, when he wanders in and plops himself down in the homeless camp in our room.
But….he has had a spike in wetting accidents this week, which tells me there is probably some underlying anxiety at work here. And my mom isn’t even here yet. I’m crossing my fingers that this is the worst of the damage.
Because, damn it, we’re all out of rooms.