Nothing can ever be easy. Nothing can ever just work the way it’s supposed to. You know – meet guy, fall in love, get married, buy a house and then have babies together. No. I met the guy, fell in love, had the baby (currently in the process of incubating the second) and have still not managed to get married or buy that house.
We should have been married last July. But then there was the possibility of buying that house. That house that ended in disappointment. Then once I was barely over that house, I discovered I was pregnant. Then getting married wasn’t such a priority – finding another house was. Then we thought we’d found one. We’d gone so far as to get bond approval and we had a move-in date and everything looked like it was – for once – going to work out.
Silly me – that I should think that things would work out and be simple. We’re supposed to move in to our new house, in eight days time – but we won’t be. The current tenants, who are supposed to be out on the 28th of this month, don’t look like they’re going anywhere. Apparently they’re blacklisted, can’t get credit, haven’t paid their rent in months – so why should they bother moving out of the house that they can’t get kicked out of?
I keep hoping that they’re going to move out. That somehow it will work out, and that in seven days time that house will be empty and we will have somewhere to put our new baby. That we will have a room for a nursery and a place to put a crib, rocking chair and baby decorations. A room that we can make so that it looks like Pinterest threw up all over it. But we don’t. And we probably won’t. Because that would be too simple. And that would be too easy.
Instead. We won’t have made any progress at all. We’ll still be unmarried. We still won’t have bought a new house. The only thing that will be different is that the house that we’re currently in, won’t be big enough for us, anymore. There will be no pretty, restful new-baby nursery. As shallow as it sounds – and yes, I know, complaining that my second child won’t have a room of his own when he comes home from the hospital is shallow – I can’t help but feeling distress and despair. For once, I just wanted things to go right. For once, I just wanted things to happen the way they were supposed to.
Waiting until the 28th to see what happens with the tenants (and ultimately our house) is draining me.It’s the Not Knowing that’s the worst. It’s penetrated every aspect of my life, and right now I’m just on auto-pilot. Work, sleep, make lunch/dinner/do homework/bath/get dressed/drive to work/sleep. I’m not interested in baby things. I’m not interested in getting excited about, or enjoying this pregnancy. I’m not interested in planning a nursery and Pinning All The Baby-Related Things. I don’t want to. All of it it seems insignificant in the face of Not Knowing.
I can’t wait for it all to be over, but at the same time, I just want to keep denying that any of it is happening. It has consumed every little part of me, and it feels like it’s been dragging on forever. And the next week of holding my breath and waiting to find out, will drag on forever, too.