Unless we hit the lottery or inherit money from a long-lost relative, and soon, it looks like our Connecticut trip is not happening. Neither are the new stove, kitchen counters, or living room flooring for which we had saved up.

Water damage made a new garage roof and a new back door the priorities, and there goes $4500.

Did I mention we already spent $3500 this year between George’s law school review class and the bar exam? And that he only brought in HALF his usual income in June and July? And that we have to start paying back his loans in three months? Yep. We’ve officially reached our financial rock bottom.

“We’re going to have to sell the house next year,” my husband says quietly, holding my hand tightly as I blink back tears.

I know this. I know this, but I don’t want anything to do with the awful truth of it, I don’t want to accept the reality of leaving. At least not this kind of tail-between-our-legs leaving, simply because we can’t afford it anymore. (And yes, it would be the same whether we were having another baby or not.) I look around each day as Oliver and George and I take our usual walk down our peaceful street, where I have never felt less than 100% safe. Then it’s back to our house, the place where we laugh and cry and watch our child grow, where we keep all our good news and bad news and dreams and worries, where our lives have taken root over the past five years. All these things we remember, all these things we love, all these things we have to start letting go.

No matter how we re-work the numbers, we just can’t stay. We can afford the mortgage and the cost of living, but we CANNOT afford thousands more dollars each year in maintenance/repairs. That’s what is killing us. And honestly, we’re tired of not being able to do anything ELSE but repairs. We just can’t get ahead. “If I were working full time,” I always say, and then stop. It wouldn’t really matter; if I were working full time, my income would just pay for day care for two kids. We still wouldn’t be able to afford all the things that will inevitably need fixed or replaced. And I hate complaining about money, because many people have it SO much worse, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less to leave our house. Home is still home for anyone.

Most of all I will miss how happy we’ve been here.

We knew we wouldn’t stay here forever, but I thought we had more time than this. It saddens me to imagine our second child taking his or her first steps in some other place. Our last autumn is coming, then our last winter, our last spring; where will we be at this time next year?

I am very very low today. I feel like everything we’ve been working SO HARD FOR is falling apart.