Yesterday, I went through my daughter’s drawers and started picking out the 0-3 month clothes that no longer fit her. I set them aside with the newborn clothes I had already packed away weeks ago and later in the evening somebody came by to pick them up for their own soon to be born daughter. And I did not expect it, but I got a bit emotional! My baby’s first clothes. The cotton onesies that we gently pulled over her head and arms when she was a sleepy newborn, the dinosaur print sleepsuits I bought from Mothercare that were so soft and suuuhhh cuuute. I didn’t want to part with them, but it also didn’t make much sense keeping them in a home that is already packed to the rafters with stuff. I’ve kept a couple of outfits for nostalgia and now, holding them up, I can’t remember the time that she actually fit into them.
I do feel a little bit oohh should I have kept them for baby no 2 in the (far) future? But honestly, by then, I know I’d have as much joy in picking out new baby clothes as I did when Ava was brewing in my belly. I wish we had an attic or a garage that I could store all these bits and pieces into, but after a weekend of house hunting, I’m beginning to feel like this 2 bed flat is never going to let us go.
In 2008, we moved into our current home. It’s seen dozens of licks of paints, wallpaper, a brand new layout and a bright and shiny extension (you can see the renovations from my old blog listed here) We’ve seen this neighbourhood bloom into a place that people actually want to live in (as LOL this place 10 years ago was not a place people wanted to move to) I love house hunting. I love going to viewings and seeing a street’s potential (or not) only this time we’ve now had to add must be in good school catchment area to our list of necessities. And a nice big house, with good transport links, in a nice street, in a good school area…in London…it’s slim pickings my friends especially when you have a real life budget and not a Russian oligarch’s.
I vetoed the first one because it was next to train tracks and this cat mumma is not taking that risk with her cat babies.
I loved the second one because it was beaaautiful and in a lovely twee street…but it was too small.
Do I sound like the househunting Goldilocks yet?
I also loved the third and to be honest I’m actually obsessing over it because it’s perfect and perfect doesn’t come around often. And then it hit me, WHOOSH, this is actually SO STRESSFUL. Because now I’m all what if someone else puts in an offer at 9am on the dot on Monday morning and here we are with our dead plants in the front garden of our flat that we haven’t even put on the market yet and then before you know it my head is swimming around with the ifs and buts and it’s only been 24 hours later.
Also, ask me how much sleep my baby is getting because that is potentially the reason my head is in a constant alert and flighty mode.
After spending a few days with my mum, Ava slept like a dream through the night. She only woke once in the night for a feed and drifted back to sleep until 6am. Then our first night back home, she refused to sleep more than two hours at a time without waking up fussing and it’s only now, a week later, that I’ve finally gotten her back to a routine again. I think.
And now, sitting here with the patio doors open, enjoying a COOL BREEZE (never thought I’d be glad to see the back of that heatwave) I can have a bit of me time, not thinking of that perfect house…because she’s sleeping soundly once more.