When we moved into the small cape house down a bumpy, dead end private way, we knew it wasn't going to be our forever home. Even so, we excitedly put our mark on that house, making it our own. From the bright yellow kitchen to the freshly painted nursery that would be filled quicker than we expected; to the accented fireplace wall, creaky stairs and the cluttered basement, I learned to love every inch of that place because it was our home. A few weeks ago, as we packed up our boxes and got ready to vacate the house, I was stricken by how hard it was going to be to leave that place that I loved despite all of its shortfalls.
While I was SO excited to move on to our new house and put the Iosua stamp on it and I love having the extra square footage, larger closets, stairs that don't creak when you walk up them and the master bathroom, I found myself tearing up at the thought of leaving our old house.
That little place is where we brought home our first baby, Daisy, and I worried about her nails scratching up our new floors. Its where I found out I was pregnant, where I felt Bryce first kick, and where he cried for 12 hours straight his first night home. Its where I nursed him; we rocked him; we calmed him; we loved him. Its wear he had his first Christmas, First Birthday, learned to crawl, walk, talk and grew into our sweet little boy. It makes me sad that our forever home will never know the sound of his infant cry, or see what he looks like in footed pajamas. The stairs in the new house may not creak and wake him up from a nap, but they also won't be the stairs he learned to climb up and down for the first time.
As I packed up the last of the boxes one night while Rob and Bryce had already left, I broke down in uncontrollable sobs. When I drove away for the last time, tears were streaming down my cheeks, they had been making their appearance from time to time over the last few weeks. Like last week when Bryce had an unusually hard time going to bed. I rocked him to sleep looking around I suddenly became sad that his walls would no longer be the same mint patty green. That his new room will be the bedroom of our little boy and not the nursery of our first baby. I know I will drive by often and wonder what the new family who moved in has changed. I hope they keep my kitchen that bright yellow. It is with a heavy heart that I said goodbye to that house, that bumpy street, my favorite running trails, and the home that was so good to us. Tonight as I soak in my new bath tub, all my own without any baby toys, (which will make me feel at least slightly better), I will shed a few more tears for the loss of our first home that houses the memories of so many firsts.
