When we first made the decision, it seemed logical and the idea of more space rather pleasant. However, now I realize it was temporary insanity that forced me into such a stupid decision. But how can I be mad? After all, the torture I'm currently enduring is self-inflicted, but wow.
After years in one house, you never realize how much stuff you accumulate until you try to shove it all in boxes. Now, I'm only half done packing, my fingers are bleeding, my back is aching and I'm bruised from head to toe. Then again, as I look around my somewhat empty house, I think 'Maybe this place isn't as small as I thought, do we really need to do this?' If I change my mind now, I think my husband would kill me in my sleep, but still...
As I have said after every move I've gone through. This is the last time we are ever doing this! I just wonder how many times I have to say that before it sticks.
In the end, although packing is horrible, transferring boxes is torture, and unpacking a headache, sitting in your new house, sipping coffee as you survey your new domain is Heaven.