12/ 09/ 2019
Moving is hard.
It was a lot harder than I thought it would be.
We brought each of our babies home to that house on Yale. We spent five Valentine’s eating grocery store sushi on the living room floor, trying to keep our voices down as we laughed about eating grocery store sushi while the kids slept in the room next door.
We ate our first meal – Reese’s Cup cereal – sitting under the doorway to the kitchen. The travertine was cold on my legs. I wiped up milk as soon as it spilled, wanting to keep the floors as clean as possible.
We were home.
Two weeks later, I did the dishes while you pounded nails into the wall. Elton blasted from the speakers and your lungs. “DON’T LET THE SUUUUN GO DOWN ON MEEE.” I couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a simple thing. Blasting music and intentionally ruining pristine walls to hang our thrifted artwork. These small actions felt so big because doing them meant we weren’t shuffling around the right basement apartment of that pink quadplex. Blasting music and making holes could only mean one thing.
We were home.
December 2013. December 2014. December 2015. August 2018.
The first night we brought each baby home we slept restlessly with the lights on to keep a close watch. It didn’t matter if it was our first or fourth. That first night was always exciting and stressful. We walked crying babies in circles around the living room, warmed bottles in the microwave, and changed diapers at the foot of our bed. We scrubbed dried yogurt and chiseled dried macaroni off the kitchen floors. We woke up more than once with elbows in our backs, hands over our faces and children sprawled like starfish across our bed.
We were home.
I lost and found myself multiple times in those walls. I discovered new hobbies and fell in love with old ones. I often worried I was losing myself in motherhood. Losing my identity, my spunk, my drive. But time and time again I realized I never lost myself. Brissa was always there, she just changed a little. With each year and each child and each trial, I discovered new things about myself. I was stronger than I thought, braver than I dreamed, and more capable than I imagined. Motherhood wasn’t stealing my identity, it was helping me discover strengths I didn’t know I had. Motherhood reminded me of the woman I was and the woman I wanted to be.
I was home.
Life has a way of going on no matter how badly you wish time would freeze. We grew in size, in age, and in number. But most importantly, our hearts grew in a way that told us our time at that little house on Yale was coming to a close. That’s truly been the hardest part of all. One day we just knew (without a real reason other than the feeling in our hearts) we had grown as much as we could within those walls and it was time to go.
You know when you meet someone and from the beginning you know it was meant to be? That’s how this house has been. We needed each other. We were waiting for each other. It was always supposed to be us and it was always supposed to be here. While the number outside is different, I know somethings will stay the same. We’ll spend our Valentine’s eating strip mall sushi on the living room floor, trying our best to keep our voices down as we laugh about how we graduated from grocery store sushi to strip mall sushi while the kids sleep in the room next door.
We are home.