The holidays have always been good times for me, and I felt bad for people who stressed about them. This year I'm starting to understand maybe just a little.
First off, no one came to our open house, which isn't all that surprising when you take into consideration all we did was put a sign out on the main road. I forgot to even put it on Craigslist until too late. Or... maybe we could have told every single person in Oregon and still no one would have stopped by because we aren't going to be able to sell it until Toby's growing pubic hairs. Sigh... at least it's clean...?
There's this purply-grey house-selling cloud settled over my right shoulder. It says we shouldn't go away for the holidays, that we should plunk ourselves down on the corner with a big sign saying "BUY MY HOUSE AND I'LL GIVE YOU A PUPPY" and wave it about like the Mattress World guys. I know that trying harder probably has nothing to do with selling FSBO real estate, but it still feels like the thing to do.
I am excited about seeing our relatives and more importantly having Toby expose them to his brilliance, but I don't relish the trip or my expandingness. I know it's annoying when pregnant women complain about how big they are, but GUYS! This is not a "cute bump" pregnancy. Apparently the backs of my arms, the width of my hips and the area just under my chin are all closely involved in growing baby bits, too. They have expanded accordingly, and we are not quite to six months here.
Who doesn't feel hyper aware of the state of their body when visiting relations? Fit people, I suppose, but then they can just feel all svelt and glowy while they bring me another vat of Dreyer's Egg Nog ice cream.