In 48 hours, we begin packing boxes in our old house.
In 72 hours, we close on our new house.
In 96 hours, the movers come.
Last night, Steve and I took the kids to dinner to get out of the house for a showing. We’ve had a surprising number of them pop up in the last week. While it’s awesome to think the house will sell, I have to say it gives me a false sense of hope; so far, nothing has come through and the showings are such a hassle with the kids. I can’t wait for these appointments to pop up next week and for it to mean nothing! We’ll be all settled in the new house and the old one will be vacant and ready for someone new. I can’t help but think that might help a potential buyer visualize living there.
I am anxiety-filled mess right now. There’s nothing more we can do to entice a buyer before we move. There’s no backing out now. There’s no way to avoid the packing/moving/unpacking days ahead. I’m dreaming about the closing. I’m trying to look at my spreadsheets that I’ve held so close throughout this process to figure out how the numbers will sort out, which is pretty impossible to project at the moment. Next week, when we’re living in the house, much of this will be behind us and make more sense. We’ll likely be making Easter crafts, playing with stored-away toys, enjoying our backyard. But there’s so much packed into the next 168 hours.