Pity Party, Table for 1.5
I am a fragile, wilting flower. I have cried more over the last few weeks than maybe any other time in my life. The waterworks are in season.
I have spent the last week being overwhelmed, stressed, nervous, terrified, and the deepest shades of blue. I miss my husband, and I miss the "boring" existence that I sometimes felt in my "regular and steady" days.
I am 30 weeks pregnant today. I use this as both an explanation, and excuse. It tends to work well as both. I am tired and restless. My belly is in full bloom, and there is new life inside me reminding me of how time sensitive all my woes are.
The process of selling a house, especially on any kind of timeframe is - well, it's woof. That's the most telling word for it: WOOF WOOF WOOF. My existence the last week has been to keep my house meticulously clean because at any given moment a showing could be scheduled. I didn't think this would be so hard for me; I am a clean person in the day-to-day. But this is hyper speed clean. This is Windex-the-shower-door-after-you-get-out clean, or don't-let-your-kids-go-upstairs-for-any-reason clean. Every drawer, cabinet, closet, nook and cranny in my house has been wiped clean and reorganized. I am wiping Deco's dog bowls out the moment he finishes eating! There is no dirty laundry, as I am making sure to wash and fold a load each night before bed. It was a lovely feeling when it was first completed, but it has been daunting to keep up with it. If it were just me - it would be no problem. But there is a 9 year old boy who try-as-he-might can't help but be a 9 year old messy boy, a 2 year old girl who likes to watch the milk dribble out of her cups along with various other naughty/mess making tendencies, and a 140 pound dog who can't help but shed a squirrel's worth of hair on an hourly basis. Maintaining the clean has made me feel like a hostage to my house. And then we get a call. I want these calls and also sort of dread these calls: Somebody wants to come and see the house! I go into psycho speed where I will blitzkrieg my floors and countertops and whatever final touches, to make it look like nobody lives here - and then I have to pile the crew into the van, and drive around for the hour or more required. My bladder gets squeezed, and the dog breath smell in the car makes me want to puke. I'd roll the windows down but of course it's been a rainy week. (Good for the grass, I keep trying to tell myself.) Would it be too much to ask every person who gets shown the house to be required to also put in an offer? (Kidding, kind of!)
Yesterday I groomed Deco for the first time. It's important to note that Deco is very much Johnny's dog - we have mutually existed with love but the "like" between us has been off and on. Poor dog has been depressed this last week. He spent 10 days at his farm (where we send him for trips) so we could prep the house before heading up north and house hunting. He was able to spend about 6 hours with Johnny before Johnny drove back up. He misses his Dad. He misses his master. He didn't eat for almost 3 days ... I have felt myself feeling awful for not knowing how to be Johnny for him - clueless on how to comfort him. The grooming session of yesterday morning was a) awful and b) revolutionary. I pulled out the combs and went to town on the slobber crusted areas. (Look up Newfoundlands. Their slobber is LEGIT.) As an unaware beginner, I made some moron level mistakes and found that I was unintentionally ripping the poor guy's hair out with the comb. In an effort to alert me to my mistakes ... he bit me (well, nipped) - and it hurt and scared me and left me bawling my eyes out. I cried because I felt bad for him, but I also cried because I felt bad for me. I called Johnny and asked how to proceed, and he coached me on a few better techniques. By the end, Deco was laying on his back, splayed out - maybe even enjoying the grooming and my company. And by night's end he was at my feet, cuddling me and making eye contact with me. Behaviors typically reserved for Daddy. So far, this is my greatest victory.
Pile on top of all of this, the part that makes everything above the worst: I miss my husband. I was told that cross-country moves were a leading cause in divorce. Thankfully, Johnny and I have found newfound respect for one another and the roles we played in the daily existence ... Roles we took for granted or were blissfully unaware of. I miss the security of having him next to me at night. I miss the extra set of eyes that allowed me to get xyz completed, worry free. I miss the comforting hugs when the waterworks begin. I miss his smells, his sounds, and even his trail of dishes. I miss my husband ... I miss him so much.
We are living a domino effect life right now. I need the first domino to fall, so that all the others will follow. The first domino is selling the house. It feels surreal to me to WANT to sell this house. It's been a lovely home, and the idea of parting with it has made me sad for months. But I've realized that without Johnny here, it isn't home. It's just a house. And I'm ready for it to sell, so I can move into my next home.
I didn't write all this so anybody would feel bad for me. (Trust me, I've felt bad enough for myself to feel covered in sympathy.) I know this will pass, and very soon we will be settled into a new home - reunited, and with an extra new person! I also know that there are worse problems to be had, and I count my blessings that my problems fall into the "first world" category. But it doesn't discount that first world problems they may be, life is sometimes hard.
Hey problem solving reader! You can be the solution by purchasing my house ... Hit me up for more details. Ha!