45 sleeps until we move countries. But who’s counting?
When I wake up tomorrow it will be April. Which means we are moving NEXT MONTH. (Well, this only really applies if you’re reading it on March 31st, but, anyway….)
It’s kind of daunting but I’m at that stage of just wanting to get on with it. A bit like when you’re at the end of a pregnancy and you just want to meet this little person who’s been kicking the bejesus out of you. Dreading the process but excited to get on with things.
Yesterday my husband and I had our Cultural Training workshop. It covered all sort of useful things. Or things that I think will be useful but having never moved countries I really have no idea. Should I happen to run a business meeting I now know I must present my business card held in two hands, and I must read someone else’s business card before putting it away.
Things are progressing, the large To Do list written on butcher’s paper and fastened to the fridge with magnets has a lot of items crossed out.
It’s also had a few things added since I originally wrote it. Things like travel immunisations. We hope to travel a bit around South East Asia, but with everything else to think about it was my husband who suggested we should probably look into whether we require any shots. So I duly booked myself into the Travel Health clinic we used when we went to Africa last century, and came away with three puncture wounds (typhoid, hepatitis A, and the dreaded tetanus/whooping cough/diptheria combo).
That tetanus booster is a bastard, my arm throbbed for 2 days, so I was thankful the girls didn’t have to get it. But they did require typhoid and hep A.
Miss 8 is appalling with needles. After her 4 year old shots she sobbed for 90 minutes and then intermittently for a couple of hours more. It was the thought of it rather than the reality so I knew we were in for an interesting ride with her. I bought and wrapped a present for both girls, and gave then a very stern lecture about not carrying on and how getting all upset would make the injections hurt more. In a nutshell – suck it up, Princess.
In the waiting room my 4 year old and 8 year old traded birth order before my eyes. Miss 8 was starting to cry and saying she didn’t want to go first, so Miss 4 bravely said “I’ll go first. I’m brave!” And brave she was, sat very still on my lap, but did cry when they pushed the plunger in.
And then the 2 minutes from hell started.
Miss 8 screwed her face up and started to HOWL. Fear pumped through her body and when presented with the “Fight or Flight” choice, she chose flight and made for the door. I had to put a still sobbing Miss 4 onto the examination bed, grab Miss 8 around the waist, clamp her between my legs, grab her face in my hands and talk to her EXTREMELY forcefully.
And when the injections were administered? Nothing. Not a peep.