This photo was taken in 2006, a couple of months before our condo was finished. We managed to get someone to sneak us (along with our friends Paul and Helga) in to take a look around. Our appliances hadn't arrived yet. We had cabinets, but no hardware. Brad and I had just gotten engaged. Look how young we look. And happy. And well rested. I'm guessing we probably slept in until 11 or noon that day. And every other weekend day before that. Sigh. Parenthood ages you more than a presidency.
And now we're most likely moving. This came as a surprise to those who know me well and know that I'm not really one for big changes. Or risk. Or uncertainty. If you ask me why we're moving in person I'll tell you it is because we finally decided we needed more space. When Brad works in the middle of the night he keeps me up. When he tries to catch up on sleep the next day we keep him up. And Tate's stuff has taken over, even though we try hard not to have a lot of stuff. And it's winter and the walls are starting to close in. All of this is true, but the move really came about mostly because I was jacked up on fertility drugs and not in my right mind when we signed the lease. Think this might be grounds for getting out of it? God, I hope so.
We recently did another round of the same treatment that we did to get Tate. (Spoiler alert, it didn't work.) But as part of the treatment you get a big honking shot of HCG, the pregnancy hormone. And that actually makes you feel kind of pregnant. And since I was feeling pregnant I thought maybe I could actually BE pregnant. And if I was pregnant there was no way in hell we could function in this condo with two kids and Brad trying to work. Unless maybe the baby took naps in bathroom and the rest of us all just peed in the lobby bathroom? Anyway, in a ginormous leap of getting way ahead of myself, and despite our doctor giving our treatment only a 3%-5% chance of working, I started looking a little more seriously for places. And then I found one it was hard to say no to. It's a duplex up, 2nd and 3rd floors. It has a shared backyard with people I hope like us (and vice versa). There is a great (at least from what I hear) neighborhood school. It's old, which is why we can (sort of) afford it. The place itself is a weird study in extremes. Super high end stove, but a nail on the back of a door instead of an actual towel hook, and so on. The pantry door is missing, and there are no handrails on the front stairs (we actually are making the new landlords fix this one). But it has space. Lots and lots of space. Did I mention there's a yard? And a pantry, even if it is door-less?
But our tiny loft is our home that we made together. We lounged around on pillows on the floor until we could afford the couch we wanted. We waited over a year to paint since we couldn't reach the high ceilings and couldn't afford painters. We waited even longer to get blinds. Each year we made a new improvement and felt like we were building on something. This year we finally added a super awesome closet organizer. Now someone else might be living here, someone who just considers this a rental and will have no real attachment to it. Our only potential renter so far is a friend of a friend who has a dog. Not just a dog...a GREAT DANE. So basically it would be like having a horse live in our 1,000-square-foot condo. Argh.
I try to think about what is best for Tate, but it's hard to say. He's happy here. He's happy everywhere. I'm sure he'll be happy in the new place too. If he doesn't get lead poisoning from all of the old paint.
So every night I cry and ask Brad if we can just stay here. And every night he reminds me that we've signed a lease but we can see what we need to do to get out of it. So there you have it. We are moving...maybe. I wonder if Great Dane guy would be interested in subletting a duplex with a yard.
