I do not deal well with insane amounts of stress. And I'm pretty sure that having my house on the market is one of the most stressful things I've ever done, second only to giving birth to my son. (I don't even remember the first three months of his life, with two significant exceptions [going out to eat one evening and bawling my eyes out while sitting on the ramp that leads up to our shed door because Oz ordered me to get out of the house and that was the only place I could think to go].)
Anyway, the house has been on the market nearly three weeks now. We've had a few showings and we've seen several people stop in front of the house and call the number to hear the recording. I'm hopeful that the couple that pulled into the driveway yesterday will call, because we actually talked to them a little bit about the place and they seemed enthusiastic, but we'll see. I'm probably being overly optimistic.
Oz keeps reminding me that it's likely the house will be on the market for months and that we need to be in it for the long haul, but since I'm a SERIOUSLY Type A perfectionist, I can already see the toll that that is going to have on me.
For one, I've started picking mercilessly at my arms and upper chest. I look like some sort of weird crack addict who uses her forearms and sternum instead of her elbow to shoot up and am giving serious thought to wearing long-sleeved turtlenecks all summer if I can't break this habit. My eyebrows are suffering, too, from where I keep tugging at them. Trichotillomania, anyone??
Two, I've been randomly breaking down at various intervals. After the showing yesterday, we didn't hear back from the realtor until Oz texted her later in the evening, and between him texting her and her reply, my stomach was so upset that I wondered a few times if I was actually going to be ill. After we finally heard back (the clients needed a larger kitchen and dining area, but they considered the place seriously and stayed a while, apparently), I broke down and cried just from the relief of knowing. This came after frantically cleaning the house for a good chunk of the morning and a fair bit of the previous day, too.
The kids (and Oz... and if I'm honest, me) are tired of Mommy being all stressed out. M2 keeps telling me to quit putting so much pressure on myself (that would be the pot calling the kettle black, but I do know she's right) and M1 gets to see the panicked, snippy side of me more often than usual. Oz is a rock and tries to talk me down, but it's pretty much useless.
I hate that having the house on the market is having such a negative impact on me and, by default, my family. I really do. I wish that I could just let things go and have some faith that things will all work out eventually, like Oz does. But I'm also starting to think that someone just needs to pass the me the Xanax until it's all over. At this point, I'd take not caring about anything for a while. It sounds like a lovely break.