I drove past my old house one last time when I got off work last night. There was a U-Haul truck in the driveway, and the new owners were already moving their furniture into my house. Sorry...their house.
I thought I was going to be upset when we finally left, but sitting in traffic, waiting for a green light, watching the windows of my house fill up with new people and new lives, I only felt a tiny bit of sadness. I guess the fact that it has dragged on for seven months helped. I've already grieved leaving our family's first home, and I just didn't have the energy to feel anything more about it.
Selling a house has not been fun. I suppose it helps if you're not in a depreciating market. And it helps if you're not crazy. I can't even tell you how many times throughout this process I thought I should just get my real estate license so I don't have to deal with real estate agents in the future. I hated not being in control; that more often than not, there was nothing I could do but sit and wait for news.
There were miscommunications. There were hangups. There were deals that fell through. There were times I checked my email every twelve seconds while I waited to hear from my real estate agent. There were days my internet search history was filled only with desperate questions that I asked Google as if it were a Magic 8 Ball: Is it bad if I haven't heard back from a buyer on our counter offer after three days? If someone comes to look at your house three times, are they going to make an offer? Why do real estate agents suck so much?
Let me assure you, Google does not really know the answer to any of these questions.
There was even one day that I got a terrible nosebleed that I'm certain was caused by stress, anxiety, and high blood pressure.
But we survived.
When my husband took the new job seven and a half months ago, he moved 300 miles away. That means our marriage has been long-distance for more than half a year. That I've single-parented during the weekdays for all these months. That one of the first phrases my baby learned to say was, "miss Daddy."
I had to keep reminding myself that there are people who do this all the time. People like military wives who stay home raising kids while their spouses are deployed. I've got nothing but respect for those people; I don't know how they do it.
Still, we survived.
We've got another couple weeks until our new house closes and is ready to move into (hopefully...fingers crossed). In the meantime, Little Spaghetti and I are staying with my parents while my husband crashes in his buddy's one bedroom apartment.
These are the experiences I never could have foreseen five years ago when I said, "I do," to my sweetheart. These are the trials that I couldn't have prepared myself for. Yet, I find myself feeling lucky. Though I didn't know what I was looking for at the time, I managed to marry a man who is willing to grow with me through these challenges rather than away from me.
And then there's our sweet baby boy. His nursery was one of my favorite rooms in the house. I remember picking out the paint color and planning the details while I was still pregnant, anxiously wondering what it would be like to have a real live baby living in that room. I've never shared those photos, but I think I will today. I may not be sad, but I am feeling a little nostalgic.
|The color scheme for the room came from this fabric I fell in love with called "Iced Giraffes." I bought yards and yards of it, and my mother-in-law sewed it into crib sheets for me.|
|I love his crib. The wall letters were a DIY project, decorated with scrapbook paper.|
|The little chair was one my dad made for me when I was little. Hugh really enjoyed pulling books off his bookshelf and "reading" them in his little chair.|
There you have it.
Also, I guess the cat's out of the bag on my son's name. It's Hugh. And, before you ask: Yes, Hugh like Hugh Hefner. Of course we named our son after one of the world's greatest playboys.
( <--That was sarcasm. Just in case you couldn't tell.)