So, we bought a house.
It’s just a funny little 50s house, but as we’ve started painting, tearing out carpet, and sanitizing the bathroom of two decades’ worth of college boy pee, we’ve already begun to fall in love.
The work is hard. And time-consuming, particularly when I’m running home a few times each day to nurse and put Seabass down for a nap. Poor Jake is on his own much of the time, on the verge of panic attacks trying to figure out how to get the house ready for move-in day this Saturday. There is a story about his adventures with paint guns that I’ll refrain from sharing right now, but suffice it to say that from what we gather, paint guns were wielded in the fires of hell.
Anyway, on the Seabass front, our little guppy is right on the verge of walking. I can hardly believe it when I catch him standing by himself or (lo and behold!) taking a few steps on his own. He has a crazy grill of teeth that cracks me up when he smiles, and his poops are reaching a whole new echelon of putrid. Our little boy is all growns up.
Still, he’s a handful as always. I can’t leave the room without him dissintegrating into a quivering lump, and due to my ineptitude at teaching him sign language, he basically screams at full volume whenever he’s hungry, thirsty, wants up, wants down, or wants anything at all. Grandma Lewis is taking care of the wee Seabass while we pack/paint/slave on the house, and she has been a saint. Truly. I’ve never felt so comfortable leaving my boy because she has the patience of Job with him and finds EVERYTHING he does adorable. I thought she was humoring him at first, but now I realize she’s just delusional.
So, all that to say we’re doing fine but we’re exhausted and ready for life to go back to *normal.* Until then,
P.S. I’d love to post pictures of the house or Seabass, but it’s too hard and I’m too tired. Sorry.