Hello friends. You may have noticed I disappeared for a bit. Well, I do apologise, and after this fascinating explanation, I’m sure all will be forgiven…
You see, in September, we decided that moving out of our share situation would be best all round (well, actually, our housemates tactfully, and gently informed us they weren’t sure they wanted to live with a baby. I wholeheartedly agreed with them, but sadly acknowledged that they actually had a choice, I didn’t.) And so, we all amicably agreed to terminate our lease in November and find other living arrangements. It wasn’t long before panic set in. Due to Dave and I both having run our own businesses from when we got married, all our savings had gone, and debts had piled up. We really couldn’t afford the current rental prices offered, and I couldn’t go out and get a full time job which is what Dave has done this year. Who would employ a woman who’s six months pregnant then happily give her time off to do the weddings and functions she has booked in for her own business? And have her leave in two months to have a baby? I wouldn’t.
So there we were – impending homelessness. *Trumpets herald the arrival of our superheros* My parents, astonished at the snot dribbling, incoherent, tear sprouting mess on their couch – that would be me – asked Dave what was wrong. Instantly they offered us their spare room to live in. Now I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth, but who really wants to live with their parents? I mean, these are the people I spent my entire teenage years plotting my escape from. Which is possibly the main motivation for marrying my first husband – an ill fated decision to bond myself to a drug addicted pathological liar who subsequently moved to Sydney without informing me after a miserable two years of marital stress. And no, I’m not exaggerating. But needs must, and once considered logically, we realised that one room would really not be appropriate for my business equipment, Dave’s office equipment, our bedroom, and a nursery.
In a fit of overwhelming generosity, my parents then announced that this was no problem, they would enclose part of their front patio, and make an internal doorway from the spare room into it, thus creating enough space for a bedroom, nursery, and office! After confirming with them that this indeed could be done within two months, we gratefully accepted. After all, they live close to Dave’s work, and the hospital. Then, in true crushed pride style, I bawled for three days over the failure of being 28, married, expecting a child, and moving in with my parents. Finally I wiped up the last of my snot, and told myself to buck up, and just do what we gotta do. It wasn’t forever. It was the best start for our child that we could give. We could even start to save for our own place – something we couldn’t do if we stayed in the rental market. We then set about moving most of our furniture into storage, so come end of lease day, we only had a few things to move to the parental home.
Moving day arrived. Unfortunately my parents’ fit of overwhelmingly generous offers had not extended to actually having the new room completed. Or even remotely close. Or having anywhere to put the moving truck of furniture we arrived with. This is despite the fact that we nervously checked several times during the two month “building period” that all would be done on time (and receiving a rather hostile response to our well waranted doubt), AND sitting down twice to outline – on paper – exactly what we would need to fit in, and when we had hired the truck for. Of course, in true pregnant woman style, I freaked. Not only that, with the exception of wonderful Dave, my family accused me of being unreasonable. Without a hint of apology it was suggested that we just “put up with the clutter for a couple of weeks”. It was also suggested that it was quite reasonable to leave my 3-door, full size display fridge, worth over $5000 on the front patio, because you know, rain, wind and dust won’t hurt it… And to top it all off, I was then accused of expecting the Taj Mahal (no, just a room would be nice). Then our kitchen fridge blew up. Which was probably just as well seeing as the space that was supposed to be cleared for it, wasn’t.
Well, we “settled in”. Settled in to a room that is with no space except to lie on the bed, or sit cramped on a chair while ominous looking stacks of packing boxes, office furniture and business equipment teetered precariously overhead. And despite actually liking my parents, my father and I are best kept separated by at least a room’s distance. Having no space of our own I was now forced to share bathroom, kitchen, and lounge areas with my family whilst a deep and burning resentment simmered just below the surface. After two days, I snapped. A blazing row ensued, and quite simply, we left. I simply could not stay another minute. I could not cram into a room just for some privacy while my family repeatedly knocked on the door to “tell me something”, or ask to drink our fruit juice in the fridge, or be told that we’ll need to move even more stuff out of the way so they could cut a hole in the wall to make a doorway (no, that hadn’t even been done). Long story short – after driving aimlessly looking for a hotel before wearily giving up at 2am, we ended up letting ourselves back into our old house (we still had a key and a few days of the lease left)at about 3am and sleeping on the floor. Mercifully we were too exhausted to notice how uncomfortable sleeping on a floor is. Actually, Dave did amazingly well to stay composed while driving around to hotel after hotel with me wailing and rocking back and forth in the passenger seat of the car.
The next day seemed hopeless to me. We both set about making phone calls – me in the rare patches of coherence in between fits of sobbing, Dave in between trying to console me. At first things looked pretty bleak, but then some friends said we could use their spare room for a week or so. They were conveniently situated on the other side of town, but it was a roof over our heads! Then the most amazing phone call of all – a good friend had not one, but TWO different families tell her they were requiring a house-sitter. All up – 9 weeks of rent free accommodation! Once I managed to subdue my homicidal urges, we approached my parents to calmly discuss the situation, and enquire their estimation of having the room finished. We were told two weeks, but wisely didn’t believe it. I even managed to resist the urge to throw something at my father’s head when told that I didn’t appreciate how busy he was and that I need to be more understanding. Apparently being six months pregnant and homeless isn’t a justified cause to be upset. That was four weeks ago and our room still needs wiring, flooring, internal walls, a new ceiling PLUS they still don’t have that hole cut in the wall. We’ve been living out of suitcases for four weeks now – collecting our mail from my parents’ house, and trying to keep track of bills, and run my business from three different locations.
And yet, we’ve never had so many blessings. Having been quite mad at God over the whole situation I shook my fist at him and said quite a few words that would make a truckie blush. And this is after years of accusing Him of not existing (but that’s another story for another time). And despite this, not only have we had accommodation appear right when we needed it, both families we are house sitting for – who I haven’t named to protect their privacy – have offered to let us stay on even after they’re home. Not only this, a long term friend of Dave’s has a home (which we never knew about) that is not only vacant, but he is willing to rent it to us at a very reasonable rate (we may still take this offer – we just need to make an appointment with our bank to see if we can consolidate some debts so we can afford it). And if you think that’s amazing – a friend of a friend ended up with a whole room of spare carpet after re-laying their house – gladly donated to us as it was in their way!
And on a very serious level, this ongoing saga, which quite frankly would make for a great sitcom story line has humbled me greatly and brought me to a sobering realisation. In situations like these, it’s where we need to trust God the most, and put our faith in His love for us. I didn’t. I fought, cursed, and doubted every step of the way. If I was God, I would have kicked me in the head – undeserving, ungrateful scum! But he didn’t. He blessed us when I deserved it the least. It’s taken this humbling experience for me to finally learn, that I cannot, not matter how I exhaust myself by trying, earn His grace.
I’m a little concerned our baby may develop a nervous tic once he’s born, but so far all tests and scans show that he has escaped with no harm. Thanks again God.
