It's like walking off the edge of a cliff.

Martin: Do you kind of wonder what it's going to be like when we get to my parent's house and set our bags down and realize what we've done?

Me: Yeah, I have, sort of like "well, this is it, we really did it."

Martin: Yeah. and then... "now what, what do we do now?"

Me: Yeah. It feels sort of like we're about to walk off the edge of a cliff.

In the mornings Martin gets up with the kids when he can leave a bit later for work, and lately I have just been laying there, thinking about the future, what it will be like. That first moment when we walk through the door and set down our stuff and realize it's for real.

 I'm always left breathless.

Not in a panic attack kind of way, or a someone punched me in the stomach kind of way, but in the kind of way you lose your breathe when you jump from a high height or you are at the first peak of a roller coaster ride.

I have these little moments of breathlessness all the time now. And it is the worst for me. And not in a "poor Olivia," kind of way or a "you, fool, why are you doing this to yourself?!," kind of way. Just a regular, "I'm 31 years old and this is all I have ever known and I'm leaving it, possibly for a really long time, possibly for as long as I live," kind of way.

It takes my breath away.

I feel very much like we are about to walk off the edge of a cliff. The only assurance I have is that I am not going to die.

Unless of course the plane crashes and then that's really Martin's fault for making me do all of this in the first place. I blame Martin.