I’m about to get a little mushy and sentimental because last weekend we said good-bye to our old house. I’m not completely sure if this is just a “Megan” thing or if most other people feel this way too, but I found the whole thing a pretty emotional experience. When we were just talking about the possibility of moving I was filled with apprehension with just thinking about leaving our home. Once we found the house we wanted to place an offer on, a small part of me was ok with us not even coming to an agreement in negotiations because I was so scared of the change ahead (don’t worry, absolutely no regrets now!) During the actual move I was ok, filled with excitement for the new house, adrenaline to get things moved and put away, and powered by the mom drive to get the kids feeling settled. But when I start to think about the entire process and look back on what our first home has meant to me it does get the emotions flowing a little bit.
This was the house we brought our babies home to. This was the house that I carefully decorated each of my kid’s nurseries. Around 8 weeks along with Amelia I remember coming home from work to a huge gaping hole in what was going to be the baby’s room. David thought he needed to better insulate the wall because it was too cold in there for a baby. After the walls were intact again, I carefully picked out just the right shade of yellow and did the nursery into a Winnie the Pooh theme. Everett’s nursery was the complete opposite, finished actually after he arrived, because it was on the tail end of our basement remodel which we were doing mostly ourselves (neither of us are DIY experts by the way). Talk about stress! When I think back to that time in our lives when I was 8 months pregnant, off work due to high blood pressure, David working two jobs, a 4 year old at home, plus trying to finish the basement, switch bedrooms, and finish the nursery. It makes me smile now that we got through it, but I sure wasn’t smiling at the time! I think about how many hours David and I spent crunching numbers, talking about our options, sweating, cursing, crying, wondering how we were ever going to make it work. Hard to believe its all over now and there are new owners enjoying the finished basement.
That was the house we spent our first year of marriage, where we had our first real arguments, learned more about forgiveness, how to divide housework and outside work, and shared so many “I love you’s”. It is where we learned, failed, and relearned how to manage our finances as a couple. It’s where we fell in love with each other several times over again. We watched Amelia take her first steps, say her first word, get her first boo boo, and take her first day of school pic. This is the place we found out our daughter would have a baby brother. Both times I found out I was pregnant was in that little bathroom. We had both of our kids’ first birthday parties in that house.
Why is it that we can become so attached to a place and we feel sad to leave? I keep telling myself it isn’t the place I’m attached to, its the memories. The feelings of love and comfort that I’ve felt inside those walls. What a wonderful thing it is to have such a thing to feel sad about.
I am looking forward to the memories to be made in our new house. It feels we have started another chapter in our life. The one where instead of wishing and preparing for babies and making our way through the newness of sleep deprived parenthood, we continue to watch our children grow, teach them right from wrong, support them, and learn from them. We will get to experience so many new “firsts” in our new house and soon it will be these walls that I’m growing attached to. I can see this chapter will be filled with family, friends, community, adventures, and love. It is always sad to close a chapter but it is even more exciting to open the next one. Here’s to the next chapter.