It is no secret that B and I are house hunting. It isn’t going particularly well. In fact, it is going terribly at least by my (hormonal, sleep deprived, emotional) yard stick and my eyes start to water at the thought of looking at any more listings.
It isn’t about searching ourselves, or having a relator search for us. It is about finding the place that blends our budget with our needs and our wants and of course, location, location, location. The truth is, I wish I could magically stretch the walls of our current home a little further and magically move it a few miles North. And while I sit around waiting for that ability (delivered to me via owl ala Harry Potter I’m sure) I browse more listings of homes. Perfect layout…bad neighborhood. Great neighborhood…way too small. Practically perfect in every way…doesn’t allow dogs.
Last weekend I thought I had found the place. I didn’t talk about it on Twitter but I sent the floor plan to my parents and told some of my friends I’d finally walked into a place and breathed “this is it” – never mind that B couldn’t make it to the showing (work appointment that ran over), I was certain. So we applied and crossed our fingers…and in a coin flip we apparently lost out to another couple. As a result I’ve spent the past few days feeling rejected, angry over my mental plans of “and this shelf will go there and we could put the crib here and I like this paint color for the nursery” and generally hating the world. It has soured my already sour outlook and I’m starting to resemble a kid who has eaten a few too many Sour Patch Kids, my face all pinchy and my eyes narrowed, uncomfortable and frustrated.
I’ve never felt so much pressure before, looking for a home. With every listing I look at I find myself thinking “Could Gracie have her first Christmas there? Learn to crawl on those floors?” and deciding if the neighborhood is safe for me to walk at dusk with the dog and the baby. It is a lot of pressure, finding a place for our family of 3+1, the emphasis is no longer on “a great floor plan for entertaining” but instead on a safe, cozy nursery and a place for her to play. The more money we save of course means more money for other things- savings accounts and college funds and child care and summer camp tuition, and I find myself feeling trapped between all of the things we need for her, what we want for her, and what is right for all of us.
Of course, the truth is, home is where we are, as evidenced by half of the couples you watch on HGTV that moved into a parent’s basement while they hunted for the right home, and now, FOUR YEARS LATER, they are still there, with more kids, and storage bins, and hey, help us find a home. I’m terrified of becoming that family, living in the basement, except our parents are not here so I suppose we’d just be living in our car or something, crash couching with our friends while brightly searching for “the perfect place” but “don’t worry, home is where our family is!”
Dramatic, yes. But it is my fear. That we won’t find something before we have to move out of the place I love, even if we’ve completely outgrown it and the commute is terrible.
I know the right place is out there. We just have to keep sorting and looking and touring and viewing. Of course, I’d prefer not to walk through another house that has a kitchen that is perfectly renovated on the right side and original, poorly maintained 1950′s on the other side, what on earth….but hey, it is like searching for the needle in the haystack, am I right?
I just hope I find that needle soon.