The Shift to Suburbia...

Anyway, as I said, redundancy loomed over our happy little household.
What were the implications? Well, for one, there was the frightening prospect of NO MONEY. Then, there was the equally unappealing concept of me returning to work early (bye bye suburban mama before she's even had a chance to appear!)
Or, there was the option of my husband finding another job. Fast.
In theory it sounded easy enough. Save for one issue. My husband is an ornithologist by trade. Yes, you read right. He is a professional twitcher (his chat up line to me when we first met was to tell me he had a PhD in pigeons, but that's another story).
And there aren't an overwhelming amount of jobs for bird experts.
It was a panicky time. I tried to be as upbeat as possible, but every time I looked at our son, I got a feeling of dread at having to give it all up, to relinquish my time with him. I loved teaching, but I just didn't want to return, not just yet. It was perhaps selfish of me, but I just couldn't bear to not be there to see DB growing into a toddler.
However, on one rainy Saturday afternoon, when we were stuck inside watching drivel on tv, my husband discovered it. A job. And not just any job either. A custom-made, absolutely shiny, sparkly perfect job. I could almost hear the choir of angels chanting halleleujah above our heads.
There was only the one problem though. It was situated in Dorset.
Ah, but that's not an issue surely, I hear you cry. Dorset's gorgeous! Dorset's charming! When you think of Dorset, you think of rolling hills, of miles upon miles of creamy yellow beaches and imposing coastlines. You think of some quaint milkmaids busy churning butter in some ramshackle barn somewhere out in the sticks. All picture postcard stuff.
Yes, yes, I agree, it is absolutely charming. But I liked Devon! No, lets go further than that. I loved Devon! I loved the roughened, slightly craggy landscape. I loved the way Exeter sat in its cosy little basin, surrounded by nothing but sprawling fields as far as the eye could see. I loved the way the Exe rolled fervently into the estuary. I loved the way the people said 'oud' instead of 'old' and called you 'lovey' in the post office and kept thinking my London accent was Australian.
My friends were there. My new business venture, set up with a neighbour and close friend, was there. My redbrick house of gorgeousness was there.
And in short, I wasn't sure whether or not I was ready to give it all up. But my husband needed a job. With a baby alongside us, we needed money coming in. End of.
So off went the application form. Predictably, an invite to interview followed shortly after. (well, he is one of the world's leading voices on pigeons, after all). The interview took place. The job offer came about twenty four hours later.
Another twenty four hours after that and the deal was done. We were officially moving.
But oh, the delicious and horrible irony....
We then found out that he wasn't going to be made redundant after all.
Sigh.
And so, it was off to Dorset with the three of us...