Sometimes, when I'm in a busy place like the mall or a farmers' market, the colors start to swirl. The hundreds of voices around me blend seamlessly into one, loud sound and I feel overwhelmed. Hand me a cool drink, tell me to sit down, and I'll be a happy spectator, content to observe the chaos around me instead of contributing to it.
The past few weeks have felt a little like that. We flew home on a Friday, landed in Raleigh the next day, and headed straight to Durham for two house showings (craaazy). From there, we swung the car east to the beach, where we spent seven sun-soaked days with my family. We ate too much good food; spent hours in damp bathing suits, lazing by the pool or digging our toes in the sand; and didn't do much of anything else. Eating, swimming, and reading voraciously pretty much sum up my idea of the perfect (restful) vacation.
From there, Drew, Lukas, and I settled into our West Durham rental, a cozy cottage with the largest living room window you've ever seen. Seriously, this thing is a vintage charmer made up of forty-two panes of glass and invites copious amounts of sunshine. In other words, I'm in love.
We began to house hunt immediately and aggressively. Factor in a female that's 37 weeks pregnant, the myriad of hormones that accompany said female like a swarm of trigger happy mosquitoes, and two adults and one toddler who are adjusting to life back in North Carolina and that equals one big bowl of stressful.
It's been a trip, guys, both literally and figuratively.
BUT HEY! WE FOUND A HOUSE! I'll save the story for another day, but our offer was accepted, we're under contract, and the inspection has already taken place (with no blatantly awful problems found, thank God).
It's August 3rd and life is good. Drew's back at work. The housing situation is looking good. And we're slowly getting more prepared for baby by the day.
The big bowl of stressful is morphing into a happy, (semi) chill bowl of vanilla ice cream.