“Are You Pregnant Yet?”

When the Consort convinced me that we were grown up enough to start trying to get pregnant, we told those close to us. We told our housemates (because we needed to make sure it would be OK with them if we added a baby to the mix of 5 adults), and we told our family.

It took about six months of trying to conceive. Which, really, isn’t very long, all things considered. But some things considered, it was a terribly long half-year.

Telling our housemates was useful; because we took turns doing all the chores, including cooking, everyone got into the pre-pregnancy and peri-pregnancy eating rules (remind me one day to tell you all about the Brussels sprout week; ugh). We were all young, and although our housemates were excited about the potential pregnancy, no one (other than the Consort and I) was invested in getting a baby out of the deal.

Our parents, on the other hand, were. I began to dread answering the phone because, likely as not, I’d be asked whether there was any news to report. The mothers were just so darned excited about the possibility of grandchildren (the fruit of our loins would be the first grandchild on either side). I didn’t really worry that there was anything wrong with me, but having to say, week in and week out, that, no, I wasn’t pregnant yet, got old fast.

I’ve remembered that six month period lately because I’m starting to feel the same way about our not yet having found a place to live out in New Hampshire. It was so exciting to tell people about our decision to spend next year in NH. But now, I dread meeting some of these people out and about. When I go to the chiropractor’s, she asks, “Are your New Hampshire plans gelling?” Uhhhh, no, nothing’s changed since I came in last week—but we have decided which school district we want to live in, and that narrows it down significantly! When I chat with the middle school librarian and the other mother who helps me with the lunch bunch book chats on Thursdays, they ask, “So, do you have a house yet?” Nah, ’s too early, I say. But they look at me doubtfully. They think I’m being cavalier; their frowns tell me I’m not taking this seriously enough in their view.

But I am! It’s just that… I have yet to meet a landlord who in April is trying to rent out their house for a July 1 start date (well, except for us, that is*). My sister-in-law sent the Consort a bunch of online listings last night, and they all had March 15 or April 15 lease starts (plus they didn’t allow pets and the rents were—gulp!—three times our current mortgage payments).

Our Spring/early Summer schedule isn’t helping much, though. I really want the Consort to be the one to go on the house-hunting trip because he grew up in that area and would be able to triangulate any potential living place’s location with the places we need to be near (NH is all mountainy and foresty, and I have never been able to wrap my brain around how one can head east out of town and end up in the village to the west of where you started). However, he’ll be in Nicaragua for the latter two weeks of May, and he’ll probably be off to a conference in NYC at the end of June (this was a shock to me because until this morning, I thought the conference was at the beginning of June).

So, we’re planning to send him out there at the beginning of June (that jives with what a realtor friend of my SIL said would be the best time to go looking, too). That’s more definite than getting pregnant ever could be. (And if we still can’t find anything, we can live in my MIL’s RV until we do. Hah!)

*A new hire at the University has emailed back and forth with the Consort about coming to see our place. It’s just him and his dog, though, so our house may be a bit too big and costly for him. We’re pushing the “find a roommate” idea. Yesterday, the Consort came home to tell me the man was coming to town tomorrow to apartment-hunt, and would like to take a look at our place. Good thing I have nothing on my desk right now, because I need to make like a tornado and clean this place up today!