LA LA Limbo Land

28hours into our new life in Santa Monica and it feels...odd. We're staying in a corporate temporary accommodation apartment, further out than we were intially told we'd be, but we spent our first evening wandering round, getting the obligatory starbucks coffee. This morning headed straight to the beach, which Baywatch made famous. It was gloriously deserted, with a few tai chi-ers, a couple walking along the frothy surf, flip flops in hand, and a woman doing weird dances holding crystal balls in her hands. Perhaps trying to recreate "dance magic dance" from the Labyrinth. Within half an hour more people had gathered but the beach is so flipping BIG it would take hundreds before it felt even vaguely busy! After finally convincing Ethan to walk with his truck rather than slowly push it on his hands and knees for another few hours, we meandered down the pier before Paul left us to pop in at work where we'd meet him later.

So far, so typical holiday. Except it isn't a holiday. We've moved here, lock, stock and barrel (apart from a box of stuff sitting in my parents' loft), with the full intention of moving home again albeit it not for a few years. That's a bloody long holiday. I suppose because we're staying in a huge apartment and not a hotel it already feels like a non-holiday. But it doesn't feel permanent either. Even when I was left to my own devices for a few hours, Maggie asleep in the sling, Ethan asleep in the buggy, and I picked up a local bus map, had a wander round areas I'd been told about - I found myself heading like a homing pigeon to the British pub to get a cup of tea but more subconsciously, to talk to someone with an English accent. Already. I think I had my mum's words ringing through my ears - despite having had to make a new home every few years as she trailed my dad around the world, when we moved to London it took nine days before she spoke to anyone outside the family. Thanks to Americans being ultra friendly and me having the huge attraction of an adorable baby attached to me, I was never going to face the same problem, but I don't feel like I'm staying here for any length of time.

But I don't feel like I'm going home either. That limbo between staying and going. It's probably also all tied into this beng the first time in my adult life when I'll be completely and utterly financially dependant on someone else. I can't work on my visa, which will be fine initially, what with having a newborn in tow, but even when I wasn't working in London I still always had my child benefit and tax credits coming in, and always saved a bit from when I did get work so I had "my" money to spend occasionally. Not that I don't think the work I do running our home, bringing up our children, looking after our finances, planning our time off isn't more than worth the money Paul brings in from working, but it is a definate feeling of lack of control which adds to the limbo feeling.

Back at the apartment this afternoon, having been totally bombarded by the sheer range of stuff available in the supermarket and coming away with some courgettes, ecover detergent and several bottles of wine, Ethan sat at the table to "read his paper" while I made his dinner. Funny little fish, always knows how to make me feel like I'm home....