I would not say I am a sentimental person regarding places - when I left for college I boxed up all my items, painted the room and told my parents to use it as a guest room and when my mom called asking what I thought about selling her home of 17 years I didn't hesitate to tell her to sell and didn't bother to go say goodbye to it. So these emotions hit me out of left field and I originally brushed it off as part of the move. The more I reflect though I fully place the blame on her -
(it is either that or admitting I lost my mind somewhere over the Atlantic)
It was the first home we brought her home to - what I find myself remembering is the way the light shone in the afternoon on her crib, the garage where I washed her first little onesies in Dreft, the kitchen where I would grab lunch and read for a few minutes when I successfully got her down for a nap, the tiny bathroom with the glass door we had to reach around for her first real bath, the light by my bed which I would use in the early morning and even the cartoons Phineas and Ferb and Handy Manny (did you know that was Fez??) because they were the only alternative to informercials in the wee hours. She made it into a place that I will always cherish.
Her room is the first room we set up in our new house, she actually gets her own room now.
We used the same bedding and added the hooks for her dresses (there are no closets) and paintings over the bed my mother made. I know this home will hold memories for us too as she learns to walk and say her first words while we are here. My friend Ashley has a quote on her blog that I never understood -
"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another." -- Anatole France
I guess now I do.
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