We moved out of our apartment today. After weeks of packing, trashing, and cleaning, this was a really big deal for us. Obviously it was not as big of a deal for our landlord who never showed up for our move-out appointment. Martha, if you’re reading this, we left the keys and garage remote on the kitchen counter. Good bye and good luck!
Maybe you remember me describing our apartment two years ago. I wrote an entire post about turning the walk-in closet into Boy Wonder’s room, comparing it to Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs. In that same post, I vowed that we had to move before he was old enough to realize he was sleeping in a closet. I’m here to proudly tell you that we are making good on that promise.
On the other hand, it’s the only home he’s ever known. When we left the hospital after he was born, that’s the address we drove to. This was the place he had all of his firsts. Walking, talking, eating, stealing from Dad’s wallet, those all happened at that apartment for the first time.
On the third hand, it’s just a place. Someone lived there before us and someone will live there after us. I bet you the next tenant moves in by next week. So at best it’s a temporary residence, a stop on the way to the next chapter of life.
Back to the second hand, it was our first home. After our honeymoon, way before she became IncrediMom, I carried Bex over that threshold. We had our own set of firsts there; first Father’s Day, first Mother’s Day, first Anniversary, first fight over wall decorations. But maybe I’m just being sentimental.
In the end, the apartment didn’t come with all of those memories, our little family filled the place with them. I like to think that we made so many good memories that filled the walls, the floors, the windows, and before long we outgrew the place. But who am I kidding? It was an empty shell before we moved in and we left it that way too. We made sure to pack the memories and take them with us, all fifteen boxes of them. The rest got shoved in the back of our car.