Ok, folks, this may be it.
Not the baby. He's still safe in the EZ bake cooker til after New Year's Eve. Plus, we don't call him IT. What's wrong with you? His name is Fuzzwolf.
The other thing. The house. We have a closing set for tomorrow at 4. There are still, oh, three pending issues that could run the whole thing off the road, but I am not daunted.
I don't want to pre-count any chickens, but we could actually have a house for Christmas! Since we basically have pulled it out of our asses, it should fit in the kids' stockings, right? And they will appreciate it, right? (More on how Christmas this year is thoughtful/cheap/disappointing for kids, heavy on the framed pictures and hand knits-later.)
I have been warming my giant-but-still-cute bum by the light of my email since Saturday, batting answers and files (57 files) back to lawyers and mortgage people and whatnot, making sure everything is covered. It would be funny how much of a nightmare this purchase has been, if it wasn't for the actual recurring nightmares, or the insane tension-induced insomnia/facial tics, or the one time with the shouting over barn paint three shades too yellow with the crying and the throwing things.
Wait, that was actually funny.
"I'm guess I'm just dumber than a bucket of paint, okay?? *sniff* DUMBER!"
"NO you're NOT, but HOW did this HAPPEN?"
"Why does it MATTER? *hiccupsniff* FortheloveofGODwhydoesitMATTER?!"
"It's not your fault! It's PAINT!"
"Yes it is! It's all my dumb paint-bucket-head fault *sob sob sob*"
This will happen. Tomorrow, it will be two lawyers, a buyer, a seller, and me, a nine-months preggo bitch with an actual eye twitch who has very recently taken herself off anti-depressants, all crammed in a room together.
Say a prayer for us, k?
Also, light a candle for anyone dumb enough to try to get in my way to stop it all now...