I’ve mentioned this before in passing but not really said much as I don’t want to jinx it going through. But as it has sort of been taking over my life I guess it’s time to rectify that.

When I’ve mentioned the perils of moving to friends, a few people responded with the fact that moving house is meant to be one of the most stressful life events. I usually replied jokingly that diagnosis of a life-limiting illness tops that. But the reality is that the arrival of MPS into our lives has directly affected how stressful I’ve found these last few months.

Life is generally full of peaks and troughs of stress and emotion, but since Pudding’s diagnosis my underlying stress has been reset to a much higher level. While I can cope with the usual everyday stuff, anything extra on top of that has become so much harder to deal with.

The difficulty of keeping the house tidy for viewings (anyone with children will understand that special pain), the disappointment of the first two offers falling through, the endless forms and legal stuff have all taken their toll. And joy of joy, stress has blossomed into the new symptom of anxiety.

Mental health has become much less taboo to talk about but it still feels hard to admit how I’m finding it. Logically I can reason with myself that the sky won’t fall in if I can’t find a particular document, but yet every time I have a communication from the solicitor my body reacts. I now only have to see notification of a new email for my heart rate to go up and it becomes more difficult to breathe. Of course, 9 times out of 10 it’s something else entirely – a harvest festival letter from school or the latest sale on at my favourite shop. But each time, that anxiety builds and some days it is immobilising.

We are hopefully now getting to the end of the process and will be able to exchange contracts soon. And I am trying to focus on the positives. The house we going to has more room inside and out for Pudding to play in (and for T to escape from him when he’s hitting). We’ll have the potential for a downstairs bedroom if we need it. The cul-de-sac location means less chance of him being in danger if he escapes. And a detached house means that I need worry less about noise.

But still those fears nibble away at me. ‘It can all fall through at the last minute’. ‘You’ll have to start all over again’. At least one bonus about our current health concerns is that Pudding seems to have stopped getting much taller at the moment, so is less likely to grow out of his current bed and small room… Maybe another year in this house is possible. And I won’t yet have the wrench of leaving the house where both my boys were born. (Technically as we’re taking the rug with us I could still point and say “that’s where it happened”!) Though I’ve already had the tears when I painted over their height marks on the wall.

Cross fingers I’ll be able to share more positive news in the next few weeks and hopefully my emotions can get back to a more even keel. In the meantime, thank god for cuddles and fun with my little Chucklemonster every evening. There is a lot to be said for living in the moment!

Sorry, this post has been a bit of an emotion dump, but do you know what? I’ll probably feel better for having written it, so no apologies to anyone who has had to read it!