I do not cope well with uncertainty. My mind fragments itself, traveling down the various paths of 'what if' until I'm stretched wide and thin. Nearly to breaking.
Our house search is predicated on a series of these potentials and we are proceeding on a number of gambles. Hold out for that extra bedroom for that child we may or may not have, who may or may not be able to share with Scooter. Insist on a single-level layout, or no more than two levels, so that it will be accessible for Grandma, when it's possible, even likely, that most of the visits will be to their house. Look only at Springfield, not at Capital City, because of the services available for autistic children, services Scooter may or may not qualify for, may or may not need. (On the other hand, we have (almost) firmly ruled out Capital City, even knowing that their charter schools are performing very well, because what if they didn't have space for Scooter, what if they couldn't provide the support he needed, how would we find an affordable home in a safe elementary school district since the charter schools are only for middle and high school.) Stay at our current range, hoping to talk people down a bit on price, rather than find out just how much more the bank would pre-approve for our mortgage; make decisions now instead of when we know whether or not I'll get the job I'm applying for, a job that would add another very large amount to our buying power.
We don't have to make decisions yet. We don't have to make decisions during this trip. We can wait, see how much lower prices sink on their own, see what new houses come on the market, make a few more trips to visit Grandma and Grandpa, who will faithfully watch Scooter as we head up to Springfield yet again. There is nothing wrong with this. We can even wait until we're ready to move, put our stuff into storage, stay with Grandma and Grandpa, figure it out then.
But I don't deal well with uncertainty. And I fear my holes are beginning to show.