I have spent the last 113 minutes of my life in a zombie like trance at the computer searching for a rental home.
Bad news. Not only can I not afford a rental home, but now I have carpel tunnel syndrome in my wrists.
I am trying not to freak out, because seriously, I have a roof over my head now...a pretty cute roof I might add. But it is hard being married to someone who is so smart and thinks ahead.
He wonders, as we start thinking about babies, if I will really want to carry a baby up and down three flights of stairs to our third story apartment? If our sink will be big enough for the baby bathtub? If we will have enough closet space? If our car is safe? If it is big enough for a car seat? If I can actually make it up three flights of stairs with a baby bag and car seat? Yikes buddy.
Who thinks that far in advance? I am just wondering how the thing gets out of my body and how many times I can claim pregnancy as a reason to eat Taco Bell in one week.
I am light years behind him in preparation. His questions have put me in a new mother, franicky, tizzy and I have determined that no, I cannot carry a baby up and down three flights of stairs. I can barely get my own thighs up and down three flights of stairs and I often have visions of tripping, falling backwards, and perishing. You might very well see a blog one day that reads, "Your friend Jenny tragically died as she tripped backwards and fell down a flight of stairs last night. No. She was not wearing high heels. Just sneakers. " In which case, don't give me a proper funeral, because I will be so ticked if I go out that way. Falling off the stairs, hitting a dear, or overeating (as in, man, that 6th hot dog really shook her up) are three lame ways I would hate to die.
On nights like tonight I do not know what to pray for. To win the lottery? To be given a house by a generous donor who loves our music (wink, wink, hint, hint)? To become less clumsy and more physically astute at climbing stairs? Or to pray that the baby comes out already walking? Or rapture, I could pray for rapture.
I have no idea. All I know is that I have a computer head ache, which is worse than a sonic slushy brain freeze, and I am trying to figure out if I can create a pulley system so that I can put the baby in a bucket and pull her up to the third floor.
Oh yeah, and whether it is totally tragic to just put the crib in the living room and call it a nursery by night?