Bathroom renovations have been in the cards for quite some time. But they have always been firmly ensconced in next year territory, part of the narrative of when we get that paid off and the fairy tales of if nothing else breaks.
We are not renovators for the sake of renovation. Renovating our London house for eight straight years cured us of that. We have never been concerned with chasing after the next newest thing. If I have managed to live with that butt-ugly light fixture for the entire time we have lived in this house, my ugliness tolerance is pretty high.
I have not even been particularly bothered by having to trudge down to the laundry room these past couple of years in order to shower. And I don't care for baths anyway, so having an unusable bathtub bothers me not in the slightest.
I am concerned with what we will find behind those crumbling walls and under that peeling linoleum, though. Especially since the powder room incident. Stepping into the en-suite to brush my teeth before bed the other night, and being met with water squishing out of the carpet beneath my feet was unsettling, to say the least. Particularly since we had just had the toilet repaired three days earlier.
It's all been patched up properly since then, although the carpet is still very wet. That's doing nothing to allay my fears of black mold and rotting floor joists. I can't even imagine why somebody would want to carpet a bathroom in the first place.
I have a feeling the days of duct tape and bubble gum repairs are, by necessity, drawing to a close. Don't you ever wish that somebody else could take over being the grown-up for a while?