Since putting our condo on the market two months ago, my life has been consumed by showings and open houses and cleaning. Or "maintaining" as Shawn likes to call it when I'm tired and cranky and I just want to go to bed and don't want to wash the goddamn dishes thankyouverymuch.
I dragged my pregnant ass out of bed when my Realtor called to say that her colleague was downstairs with a client and could I please show the condo even though we specified that we need advance notice because of the dogs. I did not stab anyone when, after that particular showing, our Realtor told us that the guy loved the place! Wanted to make an offer! Couldn't obtain financing from the bank! (Side note to any Realtors out there: do not make cranky pregnant ladies drag themselves out of bed on a Saturday morning to show her condo if your client has not been pre-approved for financing.)
I did not stab anyone when our fireplace exploded during our first open house. (It's electric, not gas, so it wasn't a huge, impressive explosion. Just a lot of smoke and burny smells.)
I did not cry when the police showed up at our second open house.
My head did not melt when it snowed during one of our open houses, meaning that not a single person showed up because the weather was too bad.
My head did not melt when our next open house coincided with the first sunny day in months, meaning that not a single person showed up because the weather was too good.
Granted, I did get a little shouty during the toilet incident but I still feel completely justified in my reaction.
I've been a fucking rockstar is what I'm saying. And I don't even feel like a douche for pointing out my own rockstarryness. It has been hard and I have been so anxious and there have been times when I have sat on the floor of my shower and cried angry tears into the hot water because I could not see the end to the madness that is selling a condo in our current market.
On Tuesday my Realtor called and asked if I could do a last minute showing that evening. Shawn has band practice on Tuesdays and on that particular Tuesday, he also had a job interview. I've reached the point of not being able to handle both dogs by myself so I called my dad (like a grownup) and asked if he could help. My parents both came over Tuesday night and helped me clean and wrangled the pups out of the condo for the showing. (And then made me dinner and then washed the dishes because dude, people like to do stuff for pregnant ladies. It is awesome.)
Last night we got an offer.
I feel a bit jinxy talking about it but the bare bones story is this: We did some negotiating. We were extremely reasonable. The buyer? Got a little unreasonable. Then the buyer got a lot unreasonable. Then I used my shouty voice and told our Realtor to tell their Realtor to go away, we weren't interested in even talking to them anymore. Then we went to bed.
This morning the buyer accepted our last offer. The one they had rejected last night.
Which means we're moving? In 6-ish weeks? Into a place we haven't found yet? In a city we haven't yet agreed upon?