30. Waiting for a house, part 5

When my son was born, my husband was employed as an academic hourly at the university, which meant he didn’t get paid leave. So, the Monday after I had given birth, he drove us home from the hospital, unloaded us—with all the gifts and flowers and baby gear—into the living room of our apartment, then turned right around and left for work. I stood for a moment, in the midst of the mess and my own hormone soup, with a wailing baby in his car seat, and promptly burst into tears.

I had a similar feeling last Monday when my husband left for work. I knew I should be elated, standing as I was in the middle of our newly-“born” home. But, surrounded by boxes and chaos, I couldn’t help but feel panicky. Overwhelmed. Abandoned. No, there was no squalling infant, but instead a needy dog and a son away at his summer job, and a maze of boxes and wrapped-up furniture. And I realized with sudden and frightening acuity that unpacking this was a job that would last for months, if not years. Would I ever write again? Would I ever leave the house, except for trips to the grocery store and Walmart to get more shelf paper? All those dreams of being able to travel, of being able to entertain….were they just that, just dreams? I felt myself saddled with a responsibility that I felt unequipped to handle. I wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep, but I didn’t even have a proper bed set up. I knew I should feel grateful, and in fact, I did feel incredibly lucky to have found such a spectacular house that we could afford, and that remarkably had so many of the features we had been planning for our build. 

I looked around at the high ceilings, the tons of windows, the french doors leading out onto the deck overlooking the woods behind the house. It felt so surreal. Everything had happened so fast I had barely any time to process it all. The very night we decided to abandon our plans to build we came to look at this house. We knew right away that this was it. The one. And now, not even four weeks later, we had managed to:  1) make an offer, 2) have it rejected, 3) negotiate a counter-offer, 4) have it rejected, 5) finally hit the right number, 6) get financing, 7) get the house appraised, inspected, and the owners to pay for and perform repairs, 8) advertise for and get a renter for our rental house, 9) hire movers and a moving truck for some of the heavier items, 10) close on the loan (despite a power outage and an air conditioning unit that went kaput that very morning), 11) move the rest of our impressive amount of stuff with our cars and a trailer over a six-day period. We set up mattresses on the floor. We found our plates and cups and silverware. Our new refrigerator was miraculously delivered a week early. A dear friend came over to help line drawers and cabinets with shelf paper—something I didn’t even realize how much I needed. Many hands make light work, as they say.

But then the weekend was over and everyone disappeared. So, last Monday, I did the same thing I’d done 16 years ago. I sighed, put on my big-girl pants, and got to work. I knew it wouldn’t be all done overnight, but I could do it. Just one step at a time.