So The Lesson Is That Babies and Soda Bottles Are Practically The Same Thing.
***UPDATE*** For some reason this post wasn’t allowing comments. Now it is!
I once had a dream that Justin and I had a baby. Except it was one of those robotic babies that kids get in health class — one that cries and pees and laughs just like a real baby, but this one’s limbs were frozen and its eyes were lifeless because it was, you know, a doll. But that didn’t change the fact that in the dream, this doll baby was as good as the real deal. Like, in my dream world, doll babies were real babies, and that was perfectly normal.
But that’s not what was wrong with the dream.
In the dream, I had just taken our baby to the mall and had loaded a bunch of shopping bags into the car to head home. I hopped into the driver’s seat, buckled myself in, and tossed the baby into the front passenger seat.
But that’s not what was wrong with the dream.
When I started to pull out of my parking space, my car kept stalling and rolling back into the space. Try and try as I might, I could not escape the confines of those two parallel white lines. Suddenly, I saw red and blue lights flashing around the interior of my car and heard the telltale blip blip of a signal siren. Panicked, I tossed the baby into one of the shopping bags on the floor.
And that, dear friends, is what was wrong with the dream.
The cop drove me home and I rode the entire way with the baby in a paper bag at my feet, hoping it wouldn’t cry. Every now and then it made a sound and I passed it off as the radio. And I’m pretty sure that even though it was only a dream — a super real feeling dream that was effed up beyond even my normal standards — it’s pretty obvious that the Universe is telling me that I’m not ready for kids.
Back in my day, we didn’t have robotic health class babies. We had 2 liter soda bottles filled with water that we dressed and named and carried around school for two days and I actually remember thinking, hey, this is fun! I wish I could bring my soda bottle baby to school every day. Which I’m sure was totally the point of that little experiment. I named her Madison and she never cried, but sometimes my arms hurt from carrying her around all day, and one time I left her in my locker while I went to the bathroom because I was pretty sure that leaving her on the sink would’ve been a bad idea, so really the locker was the responsible choice.
And again. Why I don’t have babies.
Now. A dream analyst might say there’s something deeper going on here — maybe a deep-seated aversion to responsibility, a hidden desire to lie to the police, or my inability to get past those confining white lines a sign that I’m letting mundane things — like fake babies — hold me back from accomplishing my real life goals, but I think the dream might actually be a brilliant analogy for how to deal with stress. See, something could seem like a really big deal, like having a baby, but really it’s not as bad as we might think because the fact of the matter is that this thing exists, no matter what, and we have to deal with it. And we can make it a huge issue and lose sleep and dwell and argue and analyze and freak out, but ready or not, it’s happening.
And hiding it in a shopping bag isn’t going to help.
And so the best course of action is to make a simple decision. And then another. And then another, until finally the problem is solved.
Which is how I’ve finally decided to deal with this move.
The first hurdle was selling our house in North Carolina. Done.
The second hurdle was deciding to buy or rent a house in Virginia, and then selecting said house to buy or rent. Done.
Next, we need to figure out how we’re actually going to get ourselves and all of our worldly possessions there, which seems much less daunting now that the first to hurdles have been crossed. And while any number of issues could come up between now and our closing date, I’m hoping we’re past the major humps of home inspections and deal wheeling and whatnot. But, if there are any stressballs lurking in the shadows, we’ll deal. Just like we’ve been doing.
So after I whined to you (and pretty much anyone who would listen) about what we could (and could not) afford in Virginia, I’m sure you’re curious about what we ended up with — did we compromise on location, or did we compromise on aesthetics?
A little of both.
We’re ending up in Newport News instead of Williamsburg.
Williamsburg is adorable and touristy and home to some of our dear friends, but the truth is that we had better luck finding a home within our budget that both fit our personal style — solid, older construction — and was also super close to shopping, grocery stores, and parks, in Newport News. Anything similar in Williamsburg would’ve been at least 30-50K more expensive. And while Williamsburg is closer to metropolises we’ll want visit often like Richmond and D.C., Newport News is a much closer work commute for Justin. Plus, it’s more of a centralized location on the peninsula, making it closer to cities like Norfolk and Virginia Beach.
And finally, and probably what officially put it over the top, buying a home in Newport News afforded us the opportunity to get a little closer to this:
The James River is just a mile from our new home. Actually, we were able to look at several that were just a block away, and one home actually had a water view, but the house we ultimately ended up with is truly what best fits our budget and needs.
Our dark wood-paneled…
brass cabinet ring pulled…
…mint green carpeted needs.
(Don’t worry. Plenty of photos to come once we move.)
So, yep. We compromised a little on location and aesthetics. But while I don’t foresee a nursery in this home’s near future, it has plenty of space for visiting family and friends, our two crazy mutts, and like… thousands of 2 liter soda bottles.
What more could a girl want?