We bought a townhome. In a way, we have to 'eat our words', to quote Mike. We both swore we'd never live in a condo. But I might as well put that on the growing list of things I swore I'd never do: Live in Toronto, get married, have kids, stop smoking...hell, I even said I'd never own a home at all! I even recall saying I'd never like boys when I was five. Now they're the two best things in my world. So there, dear reader, is a testament to the changeability of life. Absolute statements are worthless.
The home is beautiful. It's a bit small, pretty much the same size as where we are now, but there are two rooms, and three levels. The top level features a rooftop terrace that looks out over King street. My favourite parts: the view, the dishwasher, a washer and dryer of my own, and walls I can paint and pound nails into ad infinitum. It's scary though, there's all sorts of payments that I've never even thought about and I'm terrified of owing the bank so much money. But it's better than renting, and I'm excited! We move in July 20th, which gives us some time to paint and remove some of the disgusting (AWFUL) wallpaper that the previous owner put up. My head is swimming with thoughts of design and the best way to use this precious little space. As usual, I want to make it look like a Victorian brothel...complete with red velvet, chinoiserie wallpaper, and candelabras. Also as usual, Mike finds my taste...exorbidant. We'll see who wins out. I'm going to guess the budget will.
Tomorrow the plan is for me to go to the mall by myself to go get some new clothes. I'm afraid. I'm afraid Ender will cry the entire time and traumatise himself AND Mike. I'm afraid that the meagre amount of breastmilk that I've pumped (I'm terrible at pumping, by the way, it seems I make just enough for him to eat and that's all) over the last month won't satiate him while I'm gone. I picture him crying, his little face all red and scrunched up.
Hell hath no fury like a mother's guilt. I'll let you know how it goes.