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DIANE KNOX: Our An Invernessian in America correspondent on why you should never move home while pregnant ... especially with a man without a van and in 100 degree heat

By Diane Knox

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Diane and Garrett inside their new home.
Diane and Garrett inside their new home.

I am never moving again. There, I’ve said it and it’s written in print to exist for all of eternity… Now, I just need my husband to read it over and over again so he never forgets.

Moving is always stressful; research continues to show that it’s one of the most stressful events that occurs in our life. One study I read found that 45 per cent of respondents said moving is more stressful than going through a break-up or divorce.

Well, let me tell you, our move last weekend almost resulted in both.

I’m being totally dramatic, and my husband has the patience of a saint, but wow, I really put him to the test. First off, I’m pregnant, which means a few things. Firstly, hormone levels seem to be through the roof, and even I can testify to the fact I’m not the most “balanced” person to be around. However, that can be forgiven.

Secondly, I can’t really do much. No heavy lifting means an awful lot of delegating, and I definitely felt guilty having to bark orders to my very sweaty friends and family as they carried all our belongings around in 100 degree heat.

I was very good at offering up waters and chicken sandwiches, however.

Diane's new house.
Diane's new house.

Summer is my husband’s busy season at work, which means he’s been glued to his desk for 10-plus hours every single day for months. Therefore, he left a lot of the logistics and organisation up to me, which is fine because I love taking care of tasks and crossing them off my list.

However, we had a few “obstacles” that we had to overcome. And most of them were entirely my fault.

Our closing date on the house was moved by a week, and the moving company I had booked were full on the day we needed them. Turns out the last Saturday of the month is the most popular date for moving, so we couldn’t find anyone.

However, by what I thought was an incredible stroke of luck, I randomly met a man with a moving truck out on the street one day who told me he could help us! Fantastic. I booked him on the spot, gave him $200 and all the details of our move.


Hubby, dad and my friend Kipp were all ready at the old house for him. The large furniture items were prepped to be lifted and moved into this truck. Bang on time, this guy appears at the door… with no truck. Apparently, unbeknown to me, I had hired only the guy’s labour and no means of transport!

Let’s just say, I’m glad I wasn’t standing in that driveway when he rocked up in his little car. Poor Garrett had to scramble to hire a U-Haul truck, then the three of them had to load up all the furniture and move it themselves – after a full day of moving the rest of our stuff.

Anyway, the task at hand was accomplished (hours later) and we successfully spent our first night in our new home on Saturday. Sunday morning rolls around and, as a “I’m sorry and I love you” gesture to Garrett, I ordered us coffee and breakfast as a sweet surprise.

Well, it was sweet until I dropped the coffee at the front door, soaking our brand new floor and splattering our freshly painted white walls.

So no, I am never moving again. And come to think of it, my husband may second that.

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