If you’ve reached transition in your natural labours you’ll know what I’m talking about.

It’s the point where it all gets too much and you’re ready to pack your bags and go home. You’re so close to the finish line but in that moment it all seems too hard. And so you fall into a heap and require enormous amounts of support and encouragement from your loved ones to keep going.

Transition is the best way I can describe the last week at home as we finished the van, moved everything out of the house and prepped to live on the road.

It was bigger than I ever imagined it would be and I gave up (not so graciously) on more than one occasion.

Perhaps I was far more disorganised than I should of been. Perhaps it’s because we’ve got four kids and keeping up with them (and their appetites + washing pile) is a full-time job in itself. Regardless, it was such a mammoth house move and I’m still recovering.

I’ll never forget my Mum’s face when she walked into the lounge room on the day we were moving out; the floor was literally covered with baskets of washing, odd socks, books to sort, toys, op-shop piles and very random assortments of miscellany. She handed me a coffee and we got to work.

What was most different about this move was the end bit; we couldn’t just throw things into a box and sort them at the next house. We hadn’t considered what to do with things we use in the home everyday but wouldn’t need in the caravan. And so we carted more stuff to the op-shop, squashed a few more boxes under my parents’ house and added things to the council pick-up collection (that was promptly raided by locals looking for treasure).

We did this all on the last day (after we had slept in the van in the driveway for the second night because our beds had already gone to new homes). Somehow we closed the door on the house at 4:45pm, just in time to hand in the keys and hit the road.

The caravan was haphazardly packed, Marigold screamed the entire journey (the most I’ve ever heard her scream) but by 7pm we made it to our first stop relatively unscathed. Three out of four children were asleep by the time we parked the van and so Daniel, Che and I ate tinned spaghetti on toast and curled into bed.

And I exhaled, still in shock that we were out of the house and on the road.

We did it! We’re doing it!

Ten days on and I’m feeling more settled. It’s intense, this first bit, as everyone adjusts to a new way of living. We’re still figuring so much out; still unsure of how everything works and where we’re headed next.

But there’s an increasing amount of moments, every day, that confirm we made the right decision.

Onward!