Well folks, I knew this day would come eventually, but I was not looking forward to it. The husband and I have finally come to a decision about where our next move will take us.
If this is your first time tuning in, the decision was between moving two hours west to be closer to my family and friends, or an hour and a half south to be closer to the husband’s family and friends. Our lease is up in August, and I really just want to be closer to more people we know.
Where we live now, we don’t have much of a support system. Don’t get me wrong, the support system of friends we do have around here is amazing, and I love them dearly (you know who you are!), but family trumps friends–especially when you’re planning to start a family. Hopefully.
The deciding factor in our move toward the Toledo area basically came down to money. The husband has a secure job in the auto industry–which is rare, as you may have guessed. It might not be secure forever, but he has seniority there now, and that counts for a lot. He was also recently promoted to a position with a much higher level of responsibility (yet oddly enough, no increase in pay…), and it makes the most sense for him to glean as much resume-building experience as possible from this opportunity so that someday when the time is right, he can leverage that experience and get a better paying job in the area we choose to settle for good.
If we move south to the Toledo area, he won’t have to leave his job.
If I force my wifely hand and move us west, we would both have to find new employment. Difficult in this job market nationwide. Damn near impossible in Michigan.
It would be selfish and financially irresponsible of me to uproot our housing and jobs right now, just to satisfy my homesickness.
And so, all I may have left is my pride, but I’m packing it up and getting the hell outta Dodge–err, Detroit–as soon as August rolls around.
I have to say that I’m doing an internal happy-dance at the prospect of quitting my job and finding a new one, but the house-hunting is not yielding the results I’d prefer, and the thought of finding a new fertility clinic before I’ve even had my first RE appointment here is rather disheartening and stressful.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and tell eighteen-year-old me not to be in such a hurry to get here.
Being a grown-up sucks.