Living the dream and being miserable about it

Mr. Wilde and I are grown ups. Last weekend we trawled round banks and estate agents setting ourselves up to buy a house. That was the easy part, the difficult part was finding the house.

The numbers, money, planning and research is all fine but I am terrified when it comes to the actually house part because I know EXACTLY what it is I want.

Last night I found it but Mr. Wilde isn't sure. Now there's this horrible thing hanging over my head but I don't know what it is. I can't get rid of it but it's making me live in fear that something, maybe even Mr. Wilde's indecision, will stop us from getting the glorious house.

I've felt like this before and it ended in heartbreak. Looking back we didn't go with the three storey four bedroom house for good reason but there is no reason we shouldn't get this. If it were down to me I'd go for another viewing this weekend just to check things like what sort of cooker it has, where the plug sockets are and where the cat's litter tray would go.

I had dreams last night of sanding and painting a little set of shelves to display my shoes and reupholstering a chair in skull-print fabric. I'm far too much on the emotional side of the spectrum, if I were logical like Mr. Wilde then I might be able restrain myself to mull it all over.

I asked him:
- Do you like it?
- Can you see yourself living there?

To both he answered yes. I said to him that I'd know when we found The House. I know and when we were looking round it he said that he knew too. He's very restrained when it comes to money so he has to think long and hard about everything he buys, even if it's a pair of jeans. He is by no means as frivolous as I am but I feel like he's going to talk himself out of a house that is utterly perfect for us.

I want to cry. I don't know how to handle this.