A week from today we will officially be living in our new home. I’m excited about it, for sure, but the next seven days are going to be ridiculous. Our current house is sort-of packed. We’re making good progress, but it’s certainly not done. And we need to be — soon — since Saturday and Sunday will be spent not here packing boxes, but celebrating my cousin’s wedding in NYC. When we return, we will have exactly two days to finish, load up the truck and be ready for 9 a.m. Wednesday, when we turn over the keys to the new owner.
I’m having mixed emotions over the whole thing. I never put too much time or energy into decorating or making it “my own”, because I knew we were rapidly outgrowing the space and wouldn’t be here too long. This house was Michael’s before it was ours, so while it is mine too, I never felt a strong attachment to it as a space. In that regard, I am ready to leave. Our new home has much more space and some really lovely touches, and I’m excited to live there and begin making new memories. And for the first time, I’m really excited to decorate. (Thank you, Pinterest, for aiding in that addiction.)
But, I love this place because it is our home — the place where we came back to after getting married, where our first baby came home from the hospital to. Since having Owen, my emotional attachment to the house has certainly gotten stronger. It’s where he took his first bath, spoke his first word, had his first birthday party, took his first step. It’s where we became parents. There are a lot of firsts here.
I will miss this house for the memories it provided, for the love it embraced, for the family it sheltered. But I’m ready for our next chapter.
Pass me a box, it’s time to go.