I can't help feeling that the same hormones that are responsible for a woman going from 'Oh my goodness, shoot me now.' in labour, to 'Awe, it was such a special time. I'd do it again tomorrow.', over the course of a few weeks, must work alongside my concept of moving house.
I start off thinking this will go smoothly. I will make this fun.
Then I reach a point where I remember....
This is not fun, this is a lot of work.
Never ending or so it seems.
I realize no matter how much I throw out, give away, donate to charity, or ebay... that we still have more toys, and socks (not that any of them match) than any family should ever own. I mean seriously Hamleys can ... not... compete... we have more. I am certain.
But kind of like labour, once you are midway through, there is no turning back.
Truthfully, even though I might grumble, I certainly wouldn't want to, because what lies on the other side is so worth it.