After the last 5+ years living in Minneapolis (me, for John it's more), we're saying see ya to the city. John and I had discussed moving once our first child reached toddling age, so we began to look at a few houses, just to get an idea of what was out there when we were ready to buy.
Our taste is a bit outside the norm. We wanted something with character, even if it meant doing some work on it ourselves. We weren't interested in square footage, and absolutely did not want a model home. After looking at a dozen or so fixer uppers, we saw a listing of a completely renovated historic home that was way out of our price range. We decided to go look at it, just for fun, and to get an idea of what goes in to a fully restored house.
Obviously we loved it. We discussed the absolute top-end price we'd be comfortable with, but it was way below asking price, so we didn't bother even contacting the seller's agent.
Then something miraculous happened. After our visit, the seller's realtor called ours out of the blue to say they'd be willing to lower the price. Their new price tag? The exact figure John and I had settled on.
So we uprooted from a two-bedroom, basement unit in a duplex on a noisy corner in Northeast Minneapolis, to an old brick house on a big, wooded lot in a small-ish town. It's absolute bliss, and more space than I know what to do with.
Despite effectively tripling our living space, we're not in a rush to fill it with furniture, or paint, or decorate. For now we're just adjusting to our new home.
Our move gives me a little over two months to nest for before Beans' expected arrival. (Side note: I called the baby Baby which bothered John to no end, because it's THE baby! It's name is not Baby. I argued that because we don't know the gender, Baby seemed like a safe bet. After much debate, we've settled on Beans as our gender-neutral term of endearment.) I've also relocated hospitals and midwives, hopefully ensuring a short car ride when I'm in the throes of labor. It's been a lot of change, which is something that I don't always enjoy.
Carl, someone that enjoys change less than I do, has had the hardest time with the move, first peeing in his kennel during the car ride, then refusing to come out of his covered litter box for the entire first day. Poor guy. I finally coaxed him out by bribing him with some salmon. He's since warmed up to the house, but is still leery of the ceiling fan in our kitchen.
More to come.