This week we each took a big breath, held our noses and dove feet first into the deep end of the pool.
We put a contract on our first house.
It’s been a long time coming for us. We watched alot of friends diving in years ago while we clung to the edge held back by circumstances and other choices. We got married, A took on an apprenticeship, we had a baby. But throughout that time we kept saving as much as we could and held tight, helped by cheap rent in our little old cottage we’ve called home for the past almost six years.
The longer we waited, the more the pressure to join the masses wore off – people stopped asking when we would buy, we stopped worrying about it and enjoyed our time here. In our cute cottage with two bedrooms, where the paint was peeling only 4 kilometres from the city, and with a view out the back which I never get tired of (above).
We decided the time was getting right to make the break, but still it seemed like something way out of reach. We started looking around and although the houses we looked at were okay, none of them seemed quite right.
Then last Saturday, we found it – a renovated post-war cottage in the suburb we wanted to live but thought we wouldn’t be able to afford.
Although its kitchen and bathroom are modern, it’s still got character with VJ walls and old style windows. It’s three bedroom and has an add-on rumpus room at the back which will make a great play space. The block is fairly small, but we can walk every where, close to train, bus, shops and parks. A 20 minute train ride into the city.
Although we’re convinced it’s as close as we’ll get to the perfect first home and we’re happy with the price, there are days when I feel like the oxygen has drained out of my body. It feels like such a massive leap.
We’ve waited so long to take it, it still doesn’t seem quite real. But as the oxygen slowly drains back in, I feel excited … very excited! Now where did I put that Ikea catalogue?!