Having a baby is a lot like nothing else in the entire universe. And until the very day that it actually happened, that our tiny little person, with the cute cheeks and tiny little toes, popped out into existence, I’m not so sure I had even the slightest idea what I was in for.
Like all parents completely terrified that they’re going to screw things up, we took baby classes and read books and blogs and even managed to assemble the crib and install the car seat! Surely the more we prepped, the better off we would be. So much so that by the time we officially had to turn in all our free time for a life of constant things to do, we would be a seasoned, well-oiled parenting machine ready to experience the drama free wonder of childbirth.
That’s definitely how it would happen … without a doubt. Right?
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In the year 2016, newly married and yearning for that typical post-wedding trip of a lifetime, my wife and I exchanged large sums of money for what we believed would be a rousing jaunt across the European country of Spain. Once there, we would consume a boundless buffet of mouth-watering tapas, fill our botas to the brim with copious amounts of sangria and wine, and eventually, settle down in a charming little village by the sea to spend the rest of our lives happily ever after.
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After seven wonderful years of parking our butts in this tiny little apartment, crammed away in this cozy garden level abode, stuffing our brains with a lifetime of warm and fuzzy memories, it is time to say goodbye. And we will miss this place, this apartment, this home we’ve had for those seven wonderful years. It has treated us well and provided us with a sneaky little headquarters, tucked closely into a main artery of the city, with big windows, an old blue carpet, and a suspiciously rusty bathtub—all at garden level prices.
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The very first thing I did today upon awakening once again into this beautiful world was to make a wish, from the bottomless and deepest depths of my heart, that our bathroom toilet would begin yet another flabbergasting flooding disaster. When it comes to bathroom flooding, this is not my first rodeo. More like the seventh.
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