I am writing this sat on the end of P3s bed. There’s the sound of snoring and a sense of peace finally. It’s been a long weekend of lots of tears, tantrums and shouting. We have boxes piled up everywhere ready to throw our entire life into a van and unpack it the other side to start a fresh adventure.
It’s our very last night staying at the house that has been our home for four years and just over one month. I loved this house when we viewed it all those years ago. It was small and cosy but I fell in love with the area, the closeness to a School P1 would go to, I loved the way the interior was modern and recently refurbished.
Our family unexpectedly grew. We’d been living there for six months when we found out we was expecting P3. The house wasn’t meant to house five, it barely fitted the four of us. It was our stepping stone Home and never a long term plan but somehow we managed four years here.
This house has so many memories attached to it, like every house I’ve ever lived in does. P2 learnt to walk here, to talk, I got married whilst living here, we got pregnant here and brought our new baby here. This has been our base for so many adventures but for such a long time I have felt nothing but hate towards this house.
We overcrowded it. We had no garden or a bath and with the girls growing bigger each day I felt more and more claustrophobic. I’m trying to concentrate on the emotions I am feeling on our very last night. I don’t think I feel sad right now. I feel bloody nervous about tomorrow and moving all of our crap into our beautifully decorated new home.
We’ve already put so much love into our new home. It’s going to be our perfect base for so many adventures and for our entire future to expand. Honestly I’m excited to close the door on this house, or at least I think I am. We’ll see. All I know is that right now I am mentally and physically drained from the girls and from the entire process that has got us to this final day.