I have always hated this apartment; from the seemingly shrinking square footage to our pothead neighbors hot-boxing us during the most nauseous weeks of my pregnancy with Daphne. From the word go we have been plotting our exit. It has taken us two and a half years to be able to escape neighbors that ditch their half-eaten water melon rinds at our door step and litter the grassy areas with ant infested snack packs and Gatorade bottles. We move on Saturday and I am so looking forward to a life free of quarterly inspections timed perfectly to wake up my napping babies.
I am really busy looking forward.
I am so excited about the next step; moving to our ideal city, buying our first home, getting to paint my walls for the first time in my married life. I found out on Friday I was moving in a week, when earlier plans had us waiting until March. So with a week to organize, clean, prepare, and pack I have been overwhelmed and full of happy stress. Maybe that is why it just dawned on me today that as we embark on a new beginning, this is the end of an enormous part of my life.
Viola took her first steps on this floor. I babysat so many wonderful kids in this microscopic living room, we had so many lovely dinners with friends and family in this apartment, this is where I was filled with joy when I found out I was pregnant, and where I mourned the loss of a baby I will never meet. Viola said her first words to me here. She has puked on this carpet more times than our landlords would ever care to know. This is where I learned I was pregnant with little Daphne and the home we brought her to from the hospital. This is where both of my girls celebrated their first Christmases. I learned my love of baking with this oven and the infinite nature of laundry with these machines.
Two and a half years of life has been lived within these walls. As excited as I am to lock that door for the final time, there were always be a special place in my heart for this itty-bitty, poorly built apartment.