I watched as they loaded the boxes onto
the truck. Here we go again, I thought. Another
move. At least we were here for one
year. That was longer than most
places. I shouldn’t complain, though. There is a reason for the madness and that’s
why I make sure we live as frugal and with as little as possible. Our moving truck isn’t very big. It’s funny how the moving guys call our boxes
‘cargo’ like we’re loading up a freight ship.
Normally it would be myself and my hubby who load everything but this
time it’s different. I’m seven months
pregnant with our first child and have been ordered by the doctor to take it
easy. That is what hurts the most about
this move. I love my doctor. But now I have to get a new one and she won’t
really know who I am yet she’ll be responsible for making sure my child and I
make it through the birthing process all in one piece.
“So much cargo,” my husband chuckles from
behind me. His arms go around my swollen
waist and he kisses the top of my head.
I lean back and close my eyes. I remember our first move. So much cargo, so many memories. I found creative ways to get rid of cargo to
move and downsize. It was been a
blessing but the moves are making me tired.
This should be the final move, I
tell myself.
One of our neighbors walks by with his dog
and waves.
“Good luck with the team, RJ,” he says to
my husband. He gives me a pitying smile
and continues down the sidewalk.
I sigh.
We’ve worked hard to get to this point in our life. If all goes well, we’ll stay put, buy a home,
raise our children in one state and one city.
Let’s get this cargo loaded so we
can head out, I say to myself.
Our landlord is making small talk with my
husband. They exchange the keys for our
deposit and shake hands. I will miss
her. I hope our new landlord is just as
nice and understanding, especially now that we have this new addition coming
soon. Would we count this little one as
cargo? I chuckle to myself and walk
toward the passenger side of our SUV. I’m
ready for this adventure.
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