It’s our last night at our Taylor Street apartment in northeast. This is the place where I had my baby and also where we moved in right after a miscarriage. I first viewed it during my first pregnancy and had visions of a baby here. By the time we moved in that baby was gone. But within a few months another was on the way.
My memories of bringing Brynn home from the hospital are so vivid. In the early days she slept in a bassinet that we moved all around the house. She’d nap in the hallway. The sweet smell of baby scented everything I wore. We’d work oh-so hard at breastfeeding together. That’s a whole other story.
We had so many visitors during those days. I feel like I can remember each moment of each one. Like when Joe and Hilary brought over a Holy Land feast. And when Meghan and Dan visited and fed us Peruvian, I think? And maybe it’s the electricity of the night before our move, but suddenly I can remember all those baby and one-year old days with her. That’s usually impossible for me to conjure well. Like they never happened.
The apartment is so unique in design. Mansard style roof, I think is what it’s called? And then these beams and its signature funny woodwork feature between the living room and kitchen. It’s its heart. Two bedrooms, bathroom, storage, deck. Garage.
I could write for days about our whole transition to the cities. What brought us here. How it went. What happened along the way. But I won’t.
Mostly, I just want to take a moment to savor these last moments here. Brynn asleep in her room. Justin watching the boob tube.
Again, our people have been so supportive of us! We had two months to plan the move. Really almost a year if you add in when we committed to the plan to buy.
My mom and sister came down to pack the kitchen and Brynn’s room. Kyle spent that same day with Justin at the new house grounding all the outlets.
Jennie came over and packed up a box. Tomorrow she is picking up Brynn and Andy is helping move boxes and furniture.
My dad took the day off (by surprise) and is coming down in the morning.
Janice discovered our “inspiration” for the new house and has helped me figure out how to decorate.
My grandpa’s gift.
Julianne handed down furniture.
Gretchen gifted us moving supplies.
Luz lent me party wares.
Co-workers, friends, family have been cheering us on. Giving gifts. Many people came over to visit.
In the new place, we’ve already had multiple mini-house warmings. Brynn’s birthday party, Heather and Phil visited, Janice has been staying there.
Still, even with all the support and ample time, I’ve been a mess the last few weeks. There’s been a lot-of different transitions going on…
One of my favorite rights of passage was smudging the other night.
Something has changed with me since our last move. Usually, I’d be chomping at the bit and clear that the next thing would be better than the last. Now I definitively know that is not true. Certainly not guaranteed. All I can hope for is that it is good, and safe, and enough. I feel the tension of leaving behind what I’ve known and love – and the risk of the unknown ahead. I never used to feel that. It was nothing but adventure. Maybe its motherhood. Maybe its aging. Now it is forward with caution. Measured.
The new house though? In New Brighton? Oh my gosh. It is the best. I can’t wait to sprawl out, slow down, drink in the green. Music in the living room. Books on the porch. Brynn playing. Time to write. That’s what I’m hoping for. Rest, peace, being real. Going smaller and deeper into my own life.
But how bout I put a pin in that and say I’ll write lots more on that later?
For now, its Taylor Street Memories. Prayers of thanks for our safe haven, home. Brynn. The parades. The Senate. Hamline. Bed rest. Rachel’s thirtieth. Rachel’s engagement. Her wedding. Kyle. A Salisbury Thanksgiving. Duluth visitors. But not enough. Sheldon’s piling in for an overnight. My folks on the living room floor. Co-sleeping with Brynn. Did I mention, Brynn?
Thanx for reading.