I have been so restless.

I’ve been wanting to move furniture around, change the curtains in every room and repaint the walls. This just might be the “nesting” stage of pregnancy women refer to when trying to mask how-anxious-they-are-about-the-baby. I think that extra special dose of hype women feel in the last few months of pregnancy is largely attributed to nerves. Buying a new lamp or hanging up new paintings is my way of saying “I might have no control over how the delivery will go and I definetly have no idea what do to once the baby arrives…but damn it, at least I definitely know this brown lamp will match our beige sofa”. Do you get the drift? It’s a way to exercise some control over an otherwise completely helpless situation.

But it’s probably not as bad as I make it sound.

We have however been checking out apartments whilst trying to find “something bigger”, “something cheaper” or even “groundfloor-would-be-nice”. So yesterday I finally got hold of a realtor who promised to show me an apartment on our street. We secured a 7:30pm appointment and when he still hasn’t shown up by 8:15 I could literally hear the echo of the vein pulsating on Alex’s forehead. He has very little patience for slackers. After Mohammed got sick of the missed calls I left on his mobile he finally called back to apologize for being late. Some 50 minutes later we were finally escorted to a building which was just across the street from us (“Moving would be easy- I thought).

What seemed like a rather average looking apartment building turned out to house perhaps the dirtiest apartment I have ever seen in my life. To be fair Mohammed did warn us that the tenants have moved out just a day before. I now know where they filmed Joe’s Apartment- a seriously grotesque movie that I accidentally watched as a child. If you have not come across this masterpiece, here is a quick recap it’s about a guy (Joe!) who moves to New York and discovers that he must share his run-down apartment with a couple thousand singing, dancing cockroaches.

“What is that smell” were the first words my husband uttered when he stepped in.Not only were the walls smeared, scratched and generally lacking a cover of paint but all sorts of crap was scattered around the floor. It seemed as though the last tenants prefered to throw their garbage right out the window-or so indicated their “back yard”. Then I saw him. Lurking on the kitchen counter…was perhaps the biggest cockroach I have encountered in my entire life. For comparison? Think of a matchbox or a KinderSurprise egg. His whiskers were as long as my cat’s. Seeing my terror Mohammed mumbled something about “bring in pest control if we require it” to which I silently added “animal rescue and the ghost busters as well“.

So dear ex-tenants of Cockroach-ville. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Living in a cockroach invested house- unless the cockroaches were holding you hostage – seriously no excuse for that. It’s discusting and unsanitary. And whilst personal hygiene is totally subjective- there are certain codes set by the society in which we live in and you Mr.CockroachFarmOwner are no freaking exception.

Needless to say we returned home seconds later and I literally hugged the hospital-clean walls, the shiny kitchen counters and promised my apartment that I will never ever ever ever leave it.