Yes, we closed on the house.
Yes, I'm still alive.
No, I didn't faint or throw up.
No, as a matter of fact, I didn't really sleep last night.
At 32, I consider myself to have had all kinds of defining "adult" moments. After all, I have survived grad school, marriage, an overseas move, parenting (so far), a return from said overseas move... Nothing has filled me with terror like buying this house. Not even when we were boarding the plane to Prague with one-way tickets or riding in the cab to the hospital after I went into labor. How weird is that? It's just a house. Just money. It's not like we're bringing new life into the world.
And yet I still have these moments... I was fine all morning, and then I was sitting at a little celebratory lunch when my heart started to pound and I was overtaken by fear and dread. The mortgage looms in my mind like some kind of giant flightless bird waiting to lope over, knock me down, and suffocate me slowly.
Does everyone feel like this, or am I just a complete freak?
Don't get me wrong, because I am totally excited at the thought of moving into a sort of permanent space. After all, I think I figured out that I've moved more than 15 times since I left home. Not moving again anytime soon sounds pretty good. And in this house there will be a place for everyone and everything, including our much-wanted guests. I think now we just need to get in there and I'll start to feel better.
At least that's the plan.