This Is The Week That Is

By way of explanation, I wanted to call this post That Was The Week That Was, but it's still going, so...that. 

This has been the best slash most nerve-wracking week ever. Possibly. I don't rate all my weeks on a awesomeness vs panic-inducing scale, for which I am sure you're thankful. 

Mainly Monday. Monday was the craziest day ever. Let's backtrack to last Saturday, when we went to see three houses. We'll call them Perfect, Money Pit and Meh. You can see where this is going, can't you? 

Perfect was great (obvs). Fantastic condition, period features, on a lovely street, near parks, huge garden by London standards, the works. In a 360 from our normal dispositions, Matt walked in and fell in love with it within about ten seconds. Normally impulsive and devil-may-care Beth had clearly put on her sensible pants that morning as I reserved judgement until we had seen all three. Yes, it was a great house, but it had one draw-back - front door opening straight into the living room - and the misleading photos provided by my BFF, the Internet, had led me to believe that casa número dos would be better. Spoiler: it wasn't. 

Number two was a Money Pit. It looked totes amazeballs from the photos, but we got off the train and walked to the house and....no. The area just felt weird. Sort of dead. And the road it was on was shabby to say the least. Multiple St George's flags outside houses and less than friendly looking neighbours. Things did not get better once we'd got inside. Despite the Del Boy-esque estate agent's insistence that it would sell quickly for way over the asking price, it was clear to us that it needed about £30k spent on it. The roof to the kitchen was leaking, the windows were blown, the bathroom needed replacing and was mouldy....ick. 

Property 3 was in the same not nice street, and was just...Meh. No. 

So we hotfooted it over to the first agents' office, put in a reasonable offer and waited. We were convinced it would go to a bidding war, or maybe sealed bids, and were told we'd hear Monday. 

Monday. 12 week scan time. I was super nervous but immediately felt better when I recognised the sonographer as the same one who'd done my fibroid sac six months ago. I pointed that out to her. I don't think she cared. At all. But she was very nice and spent ages talking us through everything. The baby was having a little siesta when she started the scan but she assured me she'd get it to move "even if I have to get you dancing around", something I probably would have found preferable to what she did next, which was use the probe to jiggle my not flat tummy around, saying "some women worry this might hurt their baby!" while I tried not to think the exact same thing. The baby must have thought it was the victim of a violent earthquake, because it immediately woke up, started flailing around madly and then wouldn't stop moving for ages. Poor traumatised thing. 

Eventually it stopped moving long enough to for her to snap these beauties. 

Sonographer: "who does it look like?" 
Me: "...it looks like a monkey..." 

We were assured that the baby is not a monkey*, and has a brain, stomach, bladder, legs, arms, feet and hands, which was a relief for all. It was also spot on for dates, so no due date moving for me.**

I'll skim over the bit where I had to wait almost two hours for them to take my blood for Down's syndrome testing because...boring, and I'll skip forward to later that afternoon when I got to work. 

Mi telefono movil started ringing*** and it was our estate agent saying our offer had been accepted on the house! Woop! 

Also this week I discovered this, sold to Matt as "like crack on toast". 

I have no idea what crack on toast tastes like, but this is goooood. The trick is in the heat from the toast. Cold it just tastes like mashed up biscuits. Warmed it's like caramel. Buy some. Trust me - you won't regret it. 

So a pretty good week all round. Pinatas for everyone! 

And now we wait... 

* the sonographer said "it's not a monkey, it has opposable thumbs! Oh, hang on, monkeys have those, don't they? Well it's not a...". "It's not a cat", I helpfully filled in. 
** I realise that due dates are an approximation, and the baby will come whenever he/she wants to. Slash whenever is least convenient. Probably mid-house move, or in the middle of me giving a presentation at work. 
*** this house-buying lark has really had to bring me out of my usual 'answering the phone to people I don't know'-hating shell. I've had more phone calls this week from agents, mortgage brokers, solicitors than I've had phone calls ever. Possibly. This might be an exaggeration. 

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