building works

Progress is being made. I accepted a seat! (Offered by, once again, a woman. Chivalry is well and truly dead, and it's completely disheartening.)

One thing that's been stressing me out more than the concept of childbirth - I mean, I am shitting terrified of childbirth -  is what needs to happen before I turn into a walking dairy farm.

Our house extension and renovations. Endless worries.

When we bought our house, we had no idea we would be having twins. We were planning to do renovations anyway, but it didn't seem as urgent as it seems now.

We realised fast that we are going to need a lot more space. And because there's so much red tape to get through to even have these bloody building works approved, we haven't started yet.

All I care about is that they are done by March, which could be when my babies decide to make an early appearance.

We could've done with not using this money towards rebuilding our house, basically, but it's an invstment that will pay back in the end - space-wise and property value-wise.

However, the neighbours have to agree that we do this, and one in particular is worried about the noise and dust, and the council still need to approve our plans. Which means who knows when they'll start. And who knows if they even will in the end, given the end of the year is fast approaching.

There's a mental and torturous tug o' war happening inside my cranium, knowing we won't have a chance to do this after they are born, and life will be much more comfortable with a bigger space - so best I just grit my teeth and get on with it.

We'll have an additional bedroom for starters; the existing spare bedroom is very small, which is barely enough room to serve as a double nursery.

But if this does proceed, I will probably go batshit crazy while this all happens, and builders don't finish on time EVER and I end up giving birth on a building site.

God.

Then there's the worry that we have enough money to do this. We should be just about fine, so long as the costs are fixed.

I'm also scaling down on what we currently have in our house. My tastes have changed as it is (hormones probably, or maybe just old age), and I am determined to declutter everything and make our home as simple as I possibly can. Knick knacks, millions of scatter cushions, trinkets, furniture we don't use, but rather stare at - I'm selling them all.

My priorities have changed. I don't want to make even more work for myself, I just want free-flowing spaces. Which will be no doubt be fast filled with their baby stuff.

The eBay app is best friend right now. I've sold my beloved Louis chairs (I look at them as a previous chapter), and am having a brutal clearout every weekend of clothes and things we just don't need.
Our stuff is still boxed up, and I plan to go through each and every item we own.

Having "stuff" just makes me feel claustrophobic right now. How life has changed. I used to collect so much stuff, so many things, and now I just want a very basic, minimalist, but classic, house.

Maybe I'm nesting. They say this is what happens when you're going to sprog, perhaps your mind just knows you won't have time to do things like paint the skirting boards for a long time. (I did this last weekend.)

I just hope whatever happens with the building works - if it happens or not - everything just works out as it should be for when they arrive.

And I just tell myself that everything is going to be just fine. And try and believe it.