So we’ve been living in our new place for a couple weeks now, and it’s just beginning to feel like home. Or, maybe I’m just beginning to not feel so lost and alone in it anymore. Don’t get me wrong, this is our dream home (until we have more kids and grow out of it), but isn’t there something about a new house that is strange and foreign? I found myself walking into the kitchen at night and feeling the need to say, “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to intrude…” Do you know what I’m saying? New homes take getting used to. There are new noises at night, new neighbors to get to know, new rhythms of life.
Anyway, we’ve moved most of our stuff over to the new house and settled in, and we’re living out of boxes a lot less, which is nice. It felt like glorified camping for a while. The first day alone with Collin in the new house felt shockingly similar to my first day alone with him EVER after Husband went back to work and my mom went back to Minnesota. I had the “Will it always be this terrifying?!” feeling again, and walked the baby to Whole Foods to meet my friend, V. V is the Winnie the pooh to my Piglet. While I, Piglet, am running in circles crying, “Oh dear! Oh dear!” over the baby gate not fitting in the doorway or the fact that I went to the new house to clean it and forgot all my cleaning supplies, V the Pooh will waltz in and find the most simple (sometimes obvious), yet brilliant solution. To anything. And she’ll make it look easy, and you will be immeasurably relieved and wonder how on earth you have such a great friend. Seriously, everyone needs a V in their lives. So that first day alone in the new house wasn’t so scary after seeing V’s refreshing smile.
In other news, we will most likely be leaving tomorrow to go back to Socal to say goodbye to my mom's partner, who is losing her battle with cancer. Cancer is such a dirty word. I hate it.