I am moving house and I am definitely not okay right now.
I don’t know why. But I’m feeling so stressed and irritated, and filled with a sense of foreboding.
But this weekend I might have sat on the stairs and cried for 10 minutes because my daughter has no friends*.
*I have to point out here, that Flea has absolutely loads of friends and is really happy right now. It’s possible, that I might have had a teeny tiny completely ridiculous over-reaction to her not wanting to go shopping with a school friend…
There’s no good reason for this nonsense. Up to this point, it has been a textbook house selling situation.
We put our house on the market mid-September, and promptly booked in a lot of viewings.
Sure, keeping the house tidy was a chore. But we had 14 viewings in 14 days, and 2 offers.
And I accepted the best one.
I found a new house the next day. I applied for a mortgage, found a solicitor and commissioned reports the day after that.
I should be feeling super smug and chill.
Except it seems that moving house is a bit like being eight months pregnant.
People literally cannot wait to tell you the horrible story of the terrible time their sale fell through 27 times and then they bought a dodgy survey from online scammer and someone took all the doors out of the house before they moved out. And then their solicitor ran off to Bermuda with their mortgage broker and all their money.
You get the idea.
It’s like how when you’re pregnant people love to tell you about their 16-day labour and how they almost died from blood loss and then took the wrong baby home. Or something.
It turns out I am the sort of person to catch second-hand anxiety from all the Terrible Things that haven’t happened, but might. And I’m not the only one.
I’m waking up at 6am every morning, with tingling front teeth. I’m grinding them in my sleep, with all the stress.
At odd times in the day, I feel my heart racing and my stomach sinks, just preparing itself for bad news.
It doesn’t help that I’m also a terrible worrier about health. So on the one hand, I’m feeling odd about all the Terrible Things that might happen relating to my house. And on the other hand, I’m worrying that I’m about to have a stroke from the stress.
It’s hard to know which Terrible Thing to focus on.
It’s very confusing.
Our new house, found in a bit of a rush, is a brand new property. The developer, keen to keep the cash flowing, wants us to exchange contracts in 28 days.
This is not helping my stress levels.
Technically, if we don’t exchange contracts in 28 days, I’ll lose the £500 reservation fee I’ve paid on the new house. And that would mean losing the big mortgage application fee I’ve paid. And the surveyor’s fee.
It’s not necessarily going to happen but it’s just another Bad Thing that might happen.
Weirdly – and without wishing to tempt fate – a tiny part of me is hoping that it all falls through. So that I can, you know, stop waiting for it all to fall through. I feel like I’ll be able to relax at that point.
I know I’m being weird.
I know I’m being irrational.
But I suspect I’m not the only one.