Closing In

In all the hoopla of giving birth, recovering, weathering two blizzards, and, of course, tackling PARENTHOOD, I neglected to inform the masses that the closing for our house has been set for March 23—about a month ahead of schedule! We received this jolly news on the day we brought Charlotte home from the hospital, and I almost cried with relief. Knowing that our days are numbered here in this miserable apartment makes such a difference in outlook. I no longer care about the apartment's décor or size or distance from the trash chute. No, the main problem with this place is the heating. We’re spending $300 to $400 monthly to keep this crap hole a meager 64 degrees. Each room has its own poorly working heating unit, so when Charlotte wakes up at night (which she often does!), I can’t just take her into the living room and rock her because it’s 55 degrees in there. The heaters require constant monitoring and resetting, otherwise they blow cold air. I’m obsessed with making sure Charlotte is warm enough, and that baby wipe warmer was one of the best investments we made, what with diaper changes being such a chilly affair! Yesterday we made the oh-so glamorous purchase of a washer and dryer, which was exciting mainly because buying them meant that moving into the house is right around the corner. My shallow aesthetic side leaned toward the pretty aquamarine Samsung set, but my prudent side opted for the Kenmore set and saved about $350. It’s a good thing I have my prudent side. The sales dude at Sears told me I could wash an entire king-sized comforter in this beast of a machine. "Really?" I said, "What about fitting all the dirty laundry my newborn generates per day into one load?" That too, he assured me. Anyhoo, the blizzards hampered house-building progress a bit, but the contractors are going to really hustle and still try to make the March 23 closing. I can’t wait for Charlotte to be in her own room and not be a slave to her every rustle, whimper, cough, sneeze, or gurgle like I currently am with her sleeping in her bassinet on my side of the bed. I can’t wait for my own bathroom sink. I can’t wait for a garage instead of schlepping Charlotte’s car seat and diaper bag a half mile in 20-degree winds to the car for every outing. I can’t wait for walls I can paint. Most of all, I can’t wait for an actual thermostat.