Unless, of course, I write about peripheral things, like the fact that we are moving. Yes, we are up and leaving our sweet little two-bedroom/one-office bungalow and heading nine blocks over to a groovy new place with actual closets and - my lifelong dream - a laundry room. Interest rates just made it all too good to pass up.
It is bigger than our current house, although not by much. But it's more about the storage and the closets than the number of rooms or how big they are. We'll have one more room and one more bathroom than we have now, but the layout is so much better that it feels like twice the space. The lot size is exactly the same, but the setbacks in the new neighborhood mean the front yards are shallower so there is more usable backyard. Plus, the fact that everything is scaled to modern humans helps - our current house is neither pre-war nor past-war, but war-contemporary, built in 1941. The kitchen cabinets hold about 8 teacups and a saucepan, and our closets are like coffins turned on end.
If it weren't for the little studio building we have in the back we'd have been doomed a long time ago. That room is floor to ceiling storage on three sides, with two big walk-in closets. We keep most everything out there and just bring what we need into the house depending on the season or the occasion. We're like our NY friends with tiny apartments who keep most of their stuff in storage units (although it is more convenient to have the storage on the property.)
I love our little house. It's a California classic bungalow, very lovingly maintained and cute as a button. But it's also an artifact of our fertility struggles. We've been looking at open houses for years, but somehow we felt that we couldn't justify moving since we didn't "need" more room. We only had one kid, after all. We also try to live fairly sustainably, keep our carbon footprints low and all that - it felt philosophically weird to buy a bigger house if we didn't even have a bigger family. And some of that is fine, because it makes sense to really think about what you need and to make decisions that value our resources, etc. etc.
But infertility becomes such an emotional component of those decisions. We didn't want to jinx ourselves by moving, we didn't want to buy in the crazy market and be stuck with a big house and no money for IVF, we didn't want to wonder what the "spare" room was going to be some day. All of our thoughts about moving started to hinge on whether or not we would ever have another baby. We did some more remodeling and told ourselves we would make it work, but we were never really happy with the idea.
I wonder if it's like that for most people who struggle with infertility for a long time. If whatever big decisions are looming - taking a new job, getting a new car, going back to school - revolve around the theoretical idea that maybe, next month, everything will change?