S was so happy in the early days of the pregnancy that her normally weak constitution had apparently dodged the morning sickness bullet. When we were informing a select group of family members about our impending peanut she proudly drew attention to her lack of morning sickness. Apparently this was enough to tempt the gods of irony because soon after her declaration she started piling up stomach turning food aversions like a squirrel storing its nuts before winter.
There’s only one way to figure out if a certain type of food is going to make you nauseous. And that’s the hard way.
Losing tomatoes was unfortunate, but hardly devestating. Losing red meat at the height of BBQ season? That’s a body blow.
I’m not going to lie to you, I’m fairly big on eating meat and taking it out of my diet has not been fun. I’ve caught myself daydreaming about hamburgers and sausages as I struggle with whatever vegetarian concoction I’m trying to pass off as lunch. Just because rabbits can get by on lettuce doesn’t mean I should.
Oh sure, the first day of our new eating regimen was fantastic. I got to empty the entire fridge of all meat products and spent my time at work happily munching on pepperettes. I was blissed out, new baby and complete possession of all the household meat products. What more could you ask for? But all too soon the fridge was empty and my dinner plate was filled with these strange and unusually shaped objects called ‘vegetables.’ It was tough. Vegetarianism is all well and good, enforced vegetarianism is tantamount to torture.
Sometimes I can’t stand it. The smells of meat are everywhere. At night the scent of BBQed steaks waft in through open windows. Co-workers heat up their lunches, spreading the enticing odour of leftover meatloaf everywhere.
I am awash in the heady perfume of red meat and unable to do anything about it.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Baby on board
That’s right, we’re pregnant.
That sounds weird. Because, um, the last time I checked, I lacked a lot of the anatomy necessary to carry a baby. But I can’t tell people ‘oh, my wife is pregnant,’ because, as she points out, she didn’t get knocked up by herself. Someone else had a hand in this, someone who looks an awful lot like me.
Although I’ve been sitting on this post for over two months, at the time of its writing I’d known we’d been preggers for two weeks. And I don’t think I’ve slept soundly through the night since we found out the good news. And it is good news, great news in fact. But it’s also terrifying and frightening. I don’t know anything about being a parent. I still spend a healthy part of my weekends watching morning cartoons. Now the giant man-boy, more concerned with comic books and computer games than one-sies and strollers, has less than nine months to pull his shit together and start laying the foundation for a new kind of life. A life that incorporates the DINKs we used to be with the overworked, overstressed and overrun parents we’re about to become.
Despite what I think (and hope) I can already conclusively say that our pregnancy won’t be much like this. In fact all of my knowledge of what to expect when you’re expecting comes from TV. And apparently that bastard has been lying to me half my life because I don’t know anything.
All I have is questions, and a big gaping black hole between my ears where the answers are supposed to be hiding. So I do what I always do when I bump against something I don’t understand, I grab all the books on the subject that I can find and read the shit out of them. Although rather than solve my dilemma in this case it really only seems to be lead to even more questions. But I take solace in the fact that they seem to be more focused and relevant, somewhat along the line of When is a good time to start bottle feeding? as opposed to, Babies come out of where now?
But what I’ve really noticed is how the arrival of our little peanut has caused me to take a good long look at myself. As S would say, only I could take our pregnancy and use it as an excuse to make it all about me. But she’s not quite right. I’m looking at myself because now I have to make some very real choices about what kind of parent will I be.
How will my parenting style differ from that of my own folks? Or, even more chilling, what will the similarities be? Will I be able to find the right line between doting parent and disciplinarian-for-hire when necessary? What sort of experiences will I expose, or not expose my child too? And when? I don’t even like cleaning the cat’s litter box how will I manage dirty diapers. Oh god, I was a horrible teenager, will my kid be as bad as I was? How will I deal with that?
You can boil all these questions down to a single thought, what kind of person am I?
Because you can’t really take responsibility for someone else’s life until you’ve got a pretty solid understanding on the elements that make up your own.
I’ve got a lot of thinking ahead of me, and some pretty important decisions that are going to come out of it all. This is the pre-season right now*, where I get the luxury of doing all the work on paper and making strictly theoretical plans. It’s a time to blue sky and imagine all the wonderful potential for the season ahead. But soon enough, the regular season will come and I need to make damn sure that I’m prepared. Because that’s when reality sets in and the choices I make won’t effect just me anymore.
*Oh god, I’m using sporting metaphors to illustrate child rearing. This is how it starts.
That sounds weird. Because, um, the last time I checked, I lacked a lot of the anatomy necessary to carry a baby. But I can’t tell people ‘oh, my wife is pregnant,’ because, as she points out, she didn’t get knocked up by herself. Someone else had a hand in this, someone who looks an awful lot like me.
Although I’ve been sitting on this post for over two months, at the time of its writing I’d known we’d been preggers for two weeks. And I don’t think I’ve slept soundly through the night since we found out the good news. And it is good news, great news in fact. But it’s also terrifying and frightening. I don’t know anything about being a parent. I still spend a healthy part of my weekends watching morning cartoons. Now the giant man-boy, more concerned with comic books and computer games than one-sies and strollers, has less than nine months to pull his shit together and start laying the foundation for a new kind of life. A life that incorporates the DINKs we used to be with the overworked, overstressed and overrun parents we’re about to become.
Despite what I think (and hope) I can already conclusively say that our pregnancy won’t be much like this. In fact all of my knowledge of what to expect when you’re expecting comes from TV. And apparently that bastard has been lying to me half my life because I don’t know anything.
All I have is questions, and a big gaping black hole between my ears where the answers are supposed to be hiding. So I do what I always do when I bump against something I don’t understand, I grab all the books on the subject that I can find and read the shit out of them. Although rather than solve my dilemma in this case it really only seems to be lead to even more questions. But I take solace in the fact that they seem to be more focused and relevant, somewhat along the line of When is a good time to start bottle feeding? as opposed to, Babies come out of where now?
But what I’ve really noticed is how the arrival of our little peanut has caused me to take a good long look at myself. As S would say, only I could take our pregnancy and use it as an excuse to make it all about me. But she’s not quite right. I’m looking at myself because now I have to make some very real choices about what kind of parent will I be.
How will my parenting style differ from that of my own folks? Or, even more chilling, what will the similarities be? Will I be able to find the right line between doting parent and disciplinarian-for-hire when necessary? What sort of experiences will I expose, or not expose my child too? And when? I don’t even like cleaning the cat’s litter box how will I manage dirty diapers. Oh god, I was a horrible teenager, will my kid be as bad as I was? How will I deal with that?
You can boil all these questions down to a single thought, what kind of person am I?
Because you can’t really take responsibility for someone else’s life until you’ve got a pretty solid understanding on the elements that make up your own.
I’ve got a lot of thinking ahead of me, and some pretty important decisions that are going to come out of it all. This is the pre-season right now*, where I get the luxury of doing all the work on paper and making strictly theoretical plans. It’s a time to blue sky and imagine all the wonderful potential for the season ahead. But soon enough, the regular season will come and I need to make damn sure that I’m prepared. Because that’s when reality sets in and the choices I make won’t effect just me anymore.
*Oh god, I’m using sporting metaphors to illustrate child rearing. This is how it starts.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Game changer
Good afternoon,
I thought I'd shake things up a little bit.
That sound you hear is my heart thundering in my chest. Carry on.
Denied
Damn.
We didn’t get the house. There wasn’t even a bidding war. In the end we just couldn’t agree on price. And, to be honest, the seller didn’t even try.
It’s too bad. I won’t deny I’m a little bummed. Once you get to the stage where you’re willing to make an offer on a place you start to envision yourself living there and you can’t help but get emotionally attached. Thankfully our cold money grubbing hearts were still functioning and we didn’t chase after the price. Which means that we still have enough sense to realize that the allure of home ownership ain’t worth draining our bank accounts over.
I really thought we had a shot at the place.
The house is significantly overpriced given its condition and the neighbourhood. It’s been sitting on the market for two months and already had one considerable drop in price. We probably would have been willing to meet his selling price if the place didn’t need so much work done to it.
I suspect that that owner has a number in his head that he’s not willing to go below, even if that number scares most potential buyers off.
Who knows, with so few houses on the market these days maybe he can afford to wait until the supply dries up so much that someone will have to meet his price because there are no other options available.
Meanwhile, we’ll keep looking and hopefully we’ll have a little more luck with the next place that tickles our fancy.
We didn’t get the house. There wasn’t even a bidding war. In the end we just couldn’t agree on price. And, to be honest, the seller didn’t even try.
It’s too bad. I won’t deny I’m a little bummed. Once you get to the stage where you’re willing to make an offer on a place you start to envision yourself living there and you can’t help but get emotionally attached. Thankfully our cold money grubbing hearts were still functioning and we didn’t chase after the price. Which means that we still have enough sense to realize that the allure of home ownership ain’t worth draining our bank accounts over.
I really thought we had a shot at the place.
The house is significantly overpriced given its condition and the neighbourhood. It’s been sitting on the market for two months and already had one considerable drop in price. We probably would have been willing to meet his selling price if the place didn’t need so much work done to it.
I suspect that that owner has a number in his head that he’s not willing to go below, even if that number scares most potential buyers off.
Who knows, with so few houses on the market these days maybe he can afford to wait until the supply dries up so much that someone will have to meet his price because there are no other options available.
Meanwhile, we’ll keep looking and hopefully we’ll have a little more luck with the next place that tickles our fancy.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
First Loves
I’m trying really hard not to get attached to the first house we looked at.
Oh we’ve kicked the tires on a couple other places, but we haven’t seriously considered anything after seeing that first place.
So we’re going back to look again. Only this time we come armed with family. My B-I-L and my father, armed with decades of construction experience, are going to help us look a little more objectively at the house we’re coveting.
They’ll be able to see beyond the future dream world of birthday parties, Christmas dinners and personal space we’ve constructed into the harsh reality of the now. The now where the plumbing leaks, the electrical needs work and that back porch is going have to be replaced. And all those things cost money.
Our biggest advantage. The house has been on the market for two months, with one price drop.
Mayhap the price has a little more flexibility left in it?
Oh we’ve kicked the tires on a couple other places, but we haven’t seriously considered anything after seeing that first place.
So we’re going back to look again. Only this time we come armed with family. My B-I-L and my father, armed with decades of construction experience, are going to help us look a little more objectively at the house we’re coveting.
They’ll be able to see beyond the future dream world of birthday parties, Christmas dinners and personal space we’ve constructed into the harsh reality of the now. The now where the plumbing leaks, the electrical needs work and that back porch is going have to be replaced. And all those things cost money.
Our biggest advantage. The house has been on the market for two months, with one price drop.
Mayhap the price has a little more flexibility left in it?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Extra money
We were fortunate enough when selling to get a bit more than our asking price. This was entirely unexpected. We even had a lowest minimum offer, below our original asking price, that we were willing to accept. So when our place took off we were content to earmark this ‘extra’ money for agent’s fees, home inspection costs, lawyer fees and all the ancillary costs that crop up during a scenario like this.
The last thing I want to do is get into the mentality that since we sold for more than we wanted, we can turnaround and use the extra cash to buy a bigger place than we originally expected.
Not happening.
There are a whole plethora of reasons why that’s not going to happen. But for me, I want to avoid any scenario where we end up taking on more debt than we have too. If there’s one thing S and I can agree on it’s debt is bad. (I’ve seen too many episodes of TIL DEBT DO US PART to know that some couples don’t necessarily agree on that.)
So we’ve got a price range we’re happy with (350-400k), a neighbourhood we’re circling like predatory birds and enough money in our pockets to give us options.
Not to shabby.
The last thing I want to do is get into the mentality that since we sold for more than we wanted, we can turnaround and use the extra cash to buy a bigger place than we originally expected.
Not happening.
There are a whole plethora of reasons why that’s not going to happen. But for me, I want to avoid any scenario where we end up taking on more debt than we have too. If there’s one thing S and I can agree on it’s debt is bad. (I’ve seen too many episodes of TIL DEBT DO US PART to know that some couples don’t necessarily agree on that.)
So we’ve got a price range we’re happy with (350-400k), a neighbourhood we’re circling like predatory birds and enough money in our pockets to give us options.
Not to shabby.
Monday, July 6, 2009
A done deal
Wow.
So we sold our place and the whole process was lightning fast.
I didn’t really know what to expect. I’d been a renter many times but when I moved in with S I just moved into the place she was already living in so we never had to take the step of house hunting together.
After two weeks of back breaking labour to get the place ship shape and three days of lurking in movie theatres or bars until it was late enough to slink home we got an offer.
Correction
We got six offers.
I thought the days of multiple offers were dead. Don’t believe the hype.
I thought the whole thing would be done with offers that had been faxed into the agent’s office. I was shocked to find out that a couple agents were actually going to come in and present to us directly. I was grappling with my best poker face as each agent sat down and presented the particulars of their offers. On the whole I was just aiming to be pleasant about the whole thing because soon we’ll be in the same position and it doesn’t pay to piss off karma if you can avoid it.
Anyway, we were obviously spoiled with a plethora of options. We were able to sell with the terms and conditions we wanted, ones that gives us enough time to look for a place without being rushed.
We’re already pouring over RE listings and driving through neighbourhoods. I think we’ll be all right when it comes to generalities (neighbourhood, location, style) but I suspect we might clash a little bit when it comes to the specifics.
But who knows. I’ve been wrong before.
So we sold our place and the whole process was lightning fast.
I didn’t really know what to expect. I’d been a renter many times but when I moved in with S I just moved into the place she was already living in so we never had to take the step of house hunting together.
After two weeks of back breaking labour to get the place ship shape and three days of lurking in movie theatres or bars until it was late enough to slink home we got an offer.
Correction
We got six offers.
I thought the days of multiple offers were dead. Don’t believe the hype.
I thought the whole thing would be done with offers that had been faxed into the agent’s office. I was shocked to find out that a couple agents were actually going to come in and present to us directly. I was grappling with my best poker face as each agent sat down and presented the particulars of their offers. On the whole I was just aiming to be pleasant about the whole thing because soon we’ll be in the same position and it doesn’t pay to piss off karma if you can avoid it.
Anyway, we were obviously spoiled with a plethora of options. We were able to sell with the terms and conditions we wanted, ones that gives us enough time to look for a place without being rushed.
We’re already pouring over RE listings and driving through neighbourhoods. I think we’ll be all right when it comes to generalities (neighbourhood, location, style) but I suspect we might clash a little bit when it comes to the specifics.
But who knows. I’ve been wrong before.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Moving
Our house went on the market this morning, nearly two weeks to the day that we made the decision to sell. And we’ve already got four showings booked. Not bad, eh? While it seemed like an easy choice at first, practically a no-brainer, it became tougher and tougher as we lurched closer to our sell date to steel ourselves to the task at hand.
We got bogged down in conflicting schedules, the rigours of back breaking labour, illness and yes, unexpected sentimentality.
(We can’t move now. It’s right downtown. And so convenient. What’re we gonna do in the sticks? I love this place)
I admit. I got a little miffed when I had to put the bulk of my belongings in storage. Apparently, everything I own is repellent to potential female buyers.
That vintage Dawn of the Dead poster?
Gone.
My precious books?
Gone.
Clothes?
Gone.
Everything was hidden away to make the place seem larger, roomier, more inviting.
And then there was the endless cleaning, packing, and repacking.
One of my favourite sayings is ‘no matter how well a move is going, it’s never really going well.’
Well, this is like that. Only worse. Because this is the pre-pack. A lot of what we shipped out, is gonna have to come back in while we look for a new place of our own. And when we move? It’ll all have to be packed…AGAIN.
Bugger.
I can’t afford to be sentimental about this place. I can’t afford to think about how this home is the place where I met my wife and where we have lived together (for better or worse) for the past 4 years.
Or how soon, if they aren’t already, complete strangers are going to be tromping through halls (don’t they know I just vaccumed those?), looking in my cupboards and making judgement calls about our design choices. I know it’s not personal, they’re just looking for their own little piece of paradise.
But I happen to think it’s pretty perfect already.
We got bogged down in conflicting schedules, the rigours of back breaking labour, illness and yes, unexpected sentimentality.
(We can’t move now. It’s right downtown. And so convenient. What’re we gonna do in the sticks? I love this place)
I admit. I got a little miffed when I had to put the bulk of my belongings in storage. Apparently, everything I own is repellent to potential female buyers.
That vintage Dawn of the Dead poster?
Gone.
My precious books?
Gone.
Clothes?
Gone.
Everything was hidden away to make the place seem larger, roomier, more inviting.
And then there was the endless cleaning, packing, and repacking.
One of my favourite sayings is ‘no matter how well a move is going, it’s never really going well.’
Well, this is like that. Only worse. Because this is the pre-pack. A lot of what we shipped out, is gonna have to come back in while we look for a new place of our own. And when we move? It’ll all have to be packed…AGAIN.
Bugger.
I can’t afford to be sentimental about this place. I can’t afford to think about how this home is the place where I met my wife and where we have lived together (for better or worse) for the past 4 years.
Or how soon, if they aren’t already, complete strangers are going to be tromping through halls (don’t they know I just vaccumed those?), looking in my cupboards and making judgement calls about our design choices. I know it’s not personal, they’re just looking for their own little piece of paradise.
But I happen to think it’s pretty perfect already.
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