Lest we end the year with any free time or disposable income whatsoever, we decided to throw in some renovation work before moving in. The kitchen floor had a spot near the sink and dishwasher that the home inspector thought indicated damaged subfloor. After a long search, we managed to hire a contractor to pull up the existing vinyl, repair the plywood subfloor and install new flooring. It was supposed to take a day and a half We’d even considered starting this project while the tenants were still there, but on a weekend they planned to travel.

You see where this is going.

The floor guys, who we did not end up hiring until two weeks ago, pulled up the vinyl to find some more vinyl, then another layer of vinyl tile, and at long last, more hardwood floor covering up a solid wood subfloor. OK, still good. Then, when they got to the part where they thought they would see a small section of damaged subfloor, they found a hole. A hole. As in, an opening through which one could view the crawlspace under the house, should that be a feature one would like in a kitchen. When one is responsible for the well-being of two children under three, however, that’s not an attractive option. Surrounding the hole, they found a whole lot of rotted subfloor, flooring, and half-rotted floor joists. Beyond that, there was a good section of damaged drywall along the wall behind the lower cabinets and, oh yeah, another hole—this one in a pipe leading from the sink drain. The likely cause of our problems, it’s probably been leaking for years.

I’d been bugging The Spouse all day long for updates the day the flooring guys pulled up the old vinyl. He was over there to supervise; I was home with the kids. (Because I had a c-section with Tiny, I’ve been forbidden to drive, lift heavy objects, or do major housework. So, I’ve not been much help, unless you count sitting on the couch bitching to be help. My mom has basically moved in with us for a month, caring for the Kiddo, cooking, cleaning, and generally keeping us from going under—otherwise, you’d have heard about us on the news by now.)

On the phone call at the end of the day, David started by calmly telling me how we’d need to call in a general carpenter. He methodically went through the details, and by the time he got to “and then I had to rip out the bottom cabinets,” I decided that ignorance was bliss.

“You know what, I don’t think I can hear about this,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate. “I trust your judgment. You decide what to do.” After recovering from the shock of hearing those last two sentences in sequence, he assured me that we would not be washing the kids’ dishes in the bathtub and we would have a functioning kitchen by the time we moved in.
To make a long story short (OK, fine, shorter) the Spouse has been using up vacation and family leave time by ripping out damaged flooring, repairing the lower cabinets, and borrowing the neighbors’ truck to ferry boxes of stuff to the new house.

Last night, after giving the Kiddo a bath, he packed up most of our glassware, china, and serving dishes and headed over to see our new floor and size up the sink situation. I think it’s something just short of a miracle that the carpenter and floor guys (and Spouse) have finished work in just under a week’s time, and we are still allegedly moving in this week— to a house that includes a kitchen with a sink and a floor, no less. How excited am I? But I’m not going to be able to exhale until I see it with my own two eyes.

A few minutes old...

We are all doing wonderfully. To say that the Kiddo has embraced her new role as Big Sister would be putting it mildly. She refers to Tiny as her baby, wants to kiss, hug, pat and hold him all the time. He’s already earning his keep as a preschooler incentive. “Put your toys away and you can hold the baby.” “Eat all of your squash and you can hold the baby.” It’s unreal how well this has been working.

Somewhat less awesome has been my introduction to the term cluster feeding. Here I was thinking that nursing every two to three hours around the clock was going to be hard to get used to again. This kid likes to do that plus go for a bonus round of constant nursing, usually between the hours of 1 and 4 in the morning. We scored major progress last night when he shifted it to 10 – 12:30 and then he just woke up normally the rest of the night. It felt like Christmas and my birthday at the same time. I’d forgotten that new mom math, where an hour of uninterrupted sleep feels like eight.

Though he’s a power eater, he’s pretty mellow and non-fussy, just enjoys being snuggly and looking around. I have lots of thoughts and rants I want to post about weird ped visits, annoying hospital policies, and general hormone-influenced new-mom weepy stuff. But I’m leaving that for later. Right now, we are all focused on adjusting to our new status as a family of four. I can’t thank my real-life family, parents, and husband and friends who have been so amazingly supportive. I am so lucky to have all of you.

It’s just that I feel mostly we’re in sort of limbo right now, waiting for the new arrival and preparing to move house a few weeks later. It is just now hitting me how crazy it is to have planned to do that. Not that we really had a choice.

Life recently has been a blur of scheduling/doing work that needs to be done on the new house, working with the landlord on showing this house (as she wants to be done with the landlord business), going to OB appointments, chasing after a busy almost-3-year-old (whose birthday will fall right in the middle of all the chaos), and sort of living in denial.

I am also roughly the size of a small rhino but lack that animal’s grace, agility and speed. I sort of lumber through the day like a half-hibernating geriatric grizzly bear. Quick to anger, but slow on the uptake.

The heat doesn’t help. At this point, all I want to do is sit in bed with a giant glass of ice water. But, for obvious reasons, this isn’t an option.

I hope to have more interesting updates soon…