Today we moved into a much larger home. We upgraded from a 3 bedroom 2,400 square foot home to a 5 bedroom 3,900 square foot home.
I was over the moon excited for the move until it happened. You see, almost everything that is important to me happened in my last house. It was the first house I bought with my husband. It was the home I brought my babies home to. It was the home I found out I was pregnant in. I gave myself my injections for the IVF cycle that gave me Jack in our guest bedroom. When I was 8 months pregnant I painted his nursery. In that same bathroom 1 & 1/2 years later I found out I was pregnant with Lucy at 3 in the morning. Was I was 7 months pregnant I painted her nursery. Now those rooms will mean nothing to the new owners, it’s just paint on a wall to them.
I knew the minute I walked into that I house I was home. It felt like an old friend and it had been so good to me. Every aspect of it felt good. I loved the layout and all of the finishes.
Our new house is nice and it will do well to serve our family but it still doesn’t feel like home. I know I haven’t been here very long. I’m sure in time it will start to feel like home. But at the moment I feel like all of my stuff is in a strangers house.
I also realize I’m having total first world problems because I’m whining over the fact that an almost 4,000 square foot house doesn’t feel like home.