The weekend before you move your baby comes down with a stomach virus.
Your husband leaves Sunday to go back to work.
Monday you wake up in agony, having caught your son's stomach virus.
You try to fool yourself into believing that the 5 male movers in your house don't hear you getting jiggy with your toilet.
Your son decides his favorite new word is "NO MOMMY!" And that he cannot live without Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, which is a problem because your television is in packing boxes.
Your house is also 80 degrees because your doors are wide open to accommodate the movers. You are sweating like a whore in church.
Fun times, y'all. Fun times. Anyone want to help me unpack?
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