I'm going crazy over here, my friends. Three days ago we decided to put an offer in on a house, but that offer is still just sitting around, waiting to be sent to the bank. The house is a short sale and the seller liked our offer, but his bank has to sign off on it too. But they can't send it to their bank until our bank passes along a slightly more substantial pre-approval letter. To avoid going into personal financial information, we're not looking to put 20% down and the private mortgage insurance (PMI) such terms require do NOT like Matt's gap in employment. Even though we have a letter from the Court of Appeals confirming the position. Even though we have a second letter detailing salary information. When we first met with the bank, they sent us on our merry way with a vague pre-approval letter that made the PMI seem like it wasn't a big deal. Now that we want to move forward, it has manifested itself as a big deal. We're onto Plan B and we do have a Plan C, but with each plan that falls through, it becomes less and less likely that subsequent plans will pan out. It's a lot of send me every document you have that outlines in explicit detail your financial status right now, now, NOW! So I plop Abigail in her crib with a book and a pacifier while I frantically click around on the computer, trying to compile all of our financial documents into one clean PDF copy to send over. Then I wait. And wait. And spastically check my email every five minutes, hoping to hear back from someone. The buying and selling agents like our offer and Matt and I feel comfortable with the future mortgage payment.
But then there's that damn gap in employment. Plan A bank explicitly told us that if we had a pay stub from the new job, this wouldn't be an issue. PMI would like us.
But we can't very well have a pay stub from a job that hasn't started yet, now can we?
Matt and I have started tentatively broaching the subject of what to do if the house falls through. The prospect of a few more years of renting really sucks.
We're praying that if it's God's Will, we get this house.
Okay, my sick whiny child has decided that I've had enough time on the computer. I've already had to stop three times to intercede on the behalf of a cornered kitty. And now I'm typing one-handed.
Oh house with a dated kitchen! How I would love thee!