Change is often good. But I am not good at change.
Five and a half years ago, my husband and I bought our first house. What we needed at that time was clear: a convenient location for work and room to grow for the kids we didn’t yet have. Three days before our closing date, I found out I was pregnant with our first child.
Just days ago, we listed this little house, as it’s time for our family to move on. Our intention has always been to move, not to stay. This starter home was just that for us – the start of our journey as a family. The town was right at the time, as we worked long hours and expanded our business. But it’s not right for us anymore, for myriad reasons that we’ve gone over together a million times. The house is too small, which we knew it eventually would be.
The time has come for us to go, and I am overcome with immense sadness.
This is the house we moved into, knowing our first child was growing inside of me.
This is the house where we decorated our first nursery.
This is the house where my water broke while watching Iron Chef.
This is the house we brought our daughter home to.
This is the house where I spent my nights awake and nursing in a rocking chair.
This is the house where we had our daughter’s first birthday party.
This is the house where I found out I was pregnant with our second child, just two weeks after that party.
This is the house where I went into labor a month early with our son.
This is the house where I had postpartum depression, crying on the kitchen floor, wondering if my son was a mistake.
This is the house where both of our children learned to crawl, walk, and talk.
This is the house where our children grew to be best friends.
This is the house where we put up our first swing set.
This is the house where my daughter twirled into a wicker basket and split her lip, sending us to the hospital for her first stitches.
This is the house we came home to after our son had surgery and cried tears of joy that he was okay.
This is the house where we spent the entire month of February inside because everyone kept getting sick.
This is the house where I became a mother and my husband became a father.
This is the house where we have lived the happiest five years of our lives.
I have lived these last five years knowing this day was coming. But this day always seemed so far away. And then, in the blink of an eye, we are here, with a For Sale sign in our front yard.
I should be happy. Happy to move to a bigger and better home. Happy to move to a town in Fairfield County that I have always dreamed of living in. Happy to move to a quieter, less crowded, and friendlier place. Happy that we are fortunate enough to be able to craft an ideal life for our family.
But instead, I am heartbroken. Heartbroken to leave the comfort of our first home as a family. Heartbroken to leave all of these memories behind. Heartbroken that this many years have passed so quickly, that our kids are no longer babies, and that we will never get that time back.
They say that home is where the heart is. A house is just a house, with the people inside it and the memories made that make the house feel like a home. But when I think about a moving truck pulling away, and our waving goodbye to this house, never to step foot in it again, I start to cry. I am crying just writing this.
I know that we will make new memories in a new house. A house that we will likely never leave. A house where we will celebrate countless birthdays and graduations. A house that my children will come home to when they return for holidays when they are adults. A house that my husband and I will grow old in. A house that our grandchildren will visit, should we make it that long. That house will be the home our children remember for the rest of their lives.