Not Ready for Mom Jeans (33 page)

Wednesday, September 24

4:00 P.M.

During my Internet trolling yesterday, I found a listing for a house I think Jake and I are going to check out tonight. It seems perfect on paper: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, updated kitchen, even a tiny half basement. Of course, I remain skeptical since I know any house that we can afford is usually not a house we’d want.

6:30 P.M.

Wow. It really wasn’t that bad. It was like, a normal house. In a normal neighborhood. The house needed some updating, of course, and we’d have to paint it immediately, and it had Pergo instead of hardwood floors, but overall, it was really pretty good. And it’s definitely in our price range. I don’t want to jinx anything, so I’ll just say we liked it. We liked it a lot. We’re going to talk about it after Sara goes to bed.

12:37 A.M.

My head is pounding. I got into bed an hour ago and tried to fall asleep. Jake, of course, is soundly asleep next to me, snoring lightly. Sara is peacefully floating on her dream cloud. I, on the other hand, have been spinning and spinning for the last hour with no end in sight.

The conversation started as soon as Jake laid Sara in her crib and closed her bedroom door.

“So, so, so! What do you think? Should we get it? I think we should get it! Let’s put a bid in tonight! I love it, love it, love it!” Jake practically hopped around in front of me.

“Let’s sit down and talk,” I said.

We walked into the living room, well, more like I walked and he threw himself joyfully down on the couch.

“Didn’t you like it?” he asked me.

“Of course I did,” I said slowly as I tucked my feet underneath me like a cat.

“But?”

“But.” I stopped, then shook my head. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” I said again. I couldn’t bring myself to vocalize my innermost thoughts.

“Clare, you have to tell me what you’re thinking,” he said lightly.

“OK,” I said, and stared out the window for a minute. “It’s just—just that … OK, don’t get mad,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows at me.

“It’s just … if we buy this house … I’m afraid if I decide to stay home … you lose your job …” I trailed off.

He leaned forward a little. “I’m not going to lose my job.”

“I know. It’s just this is such a huge step. I’m scared.” I pulled my hoodie tightly around my body.

“I know,” Jake said as he pulled me toward him.

“Can we just sleep on it?” I said into his T-shirt.

“Of course.” He kissed the top of my head and squeezed me.

As I lay down to bed, I knew. I knew it was time to move forward, to keep pushing toward the next steps. Because that’s what being a parent means.

Thursday, September 25

This morning, Jake rolled over in bed and put his arm around my waist.

“Let’s get the house,” I whispered in his ear.

“But what about all that stuff last night?” he mumbled into my pillow.

“Just a conversation. That house is our future. Let’s do it,” I said.

“I’m in,” he said.

So, we leapt out of bed as Jake dialed our Realtor and let her know we’d like to put a bid in on the house.

I ran to Sara’s crib and announced, “Sara, you’re going to have a big, beautiful new room in a huge, amazing new house!”

She stood up in her crib and extended her chubby arms toward me. I picked her up and held her close to my chest. I whispered in her ear that even though I go to work every day, she’s still the most important thing in the world to me and there’s nothing I won’t do for her. She’s my life. She’s my heart, and now she was going to get an awesome new house to explore.

I released her and held her face close to mine. She shrieked and laid her head against my chest. And I knew she understood.

Friday, September 26

Holy shit.

Our offer was accepted.

We close on November 7.

Part of me didn’t think they’d really accept it. Or at least, we’d go back and forth and have a battle of wills and I’d get to display my amazing negotiating powers and get them to throw in their plasma television or something.

But no.

No plasma television.

Just a contract on an amazing, larger-than-I’d-ever-thought-we’d-be-able-to-afford
house
.

House.

We have a house.

I must go obsessively stare at the pictures we took at the showing.

Saturday, September 27

Jake and I basked in the glow of the soon-to-be-our house for hours last night. We threw our hands up and wondered just what we’re going to do with all that darn space. And the bathrooms. There are two and a half bathrooms! I’ve already claimed which one is “mine,” and therefore Jake is not allowed to do anything but occasionally wash his hands in it.

We wondered if the fridge was so big, I could fit inside of it. I excitedly discussed what flowers to plant in the backyard. Jake planned about eight parties we could hold in our basement. I dreamed about the sure-to-be-our-new-best-friends neighbors.

We drank two bottles of wine, so by the end of the night it became, “It hasshs a front doorsh! Aweshome!”

My headache this morning did not dull my excitement. Realizing that we now have to pack up everything in our apartment did. Although we did a massive clean-and-pitch before Sara was born, several drawers, cabinets, and closets are still stuffed with random things, like strands of broken Christmas lights all knotted together. I don’t want to even consider what to do with the wire hanger collection Jake’s amassed in the back of the closet. On second thought, maybe we can hang it as a chandelier in our new living room and call it our art deco creation or something.

The minute I got home from work, I started pulling papers out of drawers and dishes out of the cabinets while Sara sat on a blanket in front of a Baby Einstein video. When Jake got home, all he could see was our daughter, looking totally confused while sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of dishes and bowls.

“Maybe we shouldn’t pack up all of our kitchenware just yet,” he said, and bent down over the ring of dishes and picked Sara up.

“Jake, you have no idea how much crap we have. We need to start
now,
” I said, and dramatically flung my arm around.

“Yes, but we probably need things like forks between now and our close date,” he said evenly.

“I have no problem eating with my hands,” I said from behind our entertainment center.

“What are you doing?” he called to me.

“I’m packing up all of our DVDs. Do you think I should just throw out our videotapes, considering you refuse to watch them due to poor picture quality?” I held up a copy of
Dirty Dancing
in my hand.

“That one, you can throw out,” he said, and pointed toward the trash.

“Very funny. You’re not helping,” I said, and set
Dirty Dancing
down atop the television.

“Clare, please. We have six weeks. Let’s try and keep it together.” He smiled. “That’s why you’re so lucky to have me. I’m so good under pressure.” He looked at Sara, “Aren’t I?” he said to her.

“Right. Like last week when we were stuck in traffic and I thought your head was going to pop off because we were five minutes late to a movie.” I waved my hands around.

“Yeah, but I keep calm about the important stuff.” He raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

Ignoring him, I walked over to the coffee table. I bent down and started pulling out the magazines stacked underneath it.

“What are you doing now?” he asked.

“I’m throwing all these magazines out.” I said, and huffed as I picked up like fifty magazines.

“Wait—you’re throwing all your old magazines away? The ones I’ve begged you to pitch for the past year?” He held his arms out like he was waiting for a huge announcement.

“Yes,” I said tersely as I shot him a dirty look.

“I take it back. You’re on the right track. Let me get you a garbage bag.” He raced into the kitchen.

“Your
Sports Illustrated
s are next,” I called to him.

Tuesday, September 30

Reveling in the new house has halted.

Golf outing day.

Gah.

Wednesday, October 1