It's a bitch ain't it?
I mean, I am a sentimental wuss at the best of times but try moving out of the flat you have lived for five years, the first home you had with your husband and mix in a whole lot of pregnancy hormones and you have a weeping, wreck of a Livy.
Not so cool.
It has been difficult watching the home we have made and love being packed into boxes. It has been even harder seeing some of my things go to charity or in the bin. Hell, I even cried sending off two pairs of shoes that I sold on ebay to their new owners and I bloody made money doing that!
We officially get the keys to our new, lovely, bigger, has-a-fricking-range-cooker house on Thursday and I am a mess of mixed emotions.
On the one hand it is going to become our new, family home. And it is perfect for that; it has a garden with a real life greenhouse, it has three bedrooms, it has a driveway and an open fire place (must buy guard...). It is also closer to our families and in a great village with a lovely village pub and a school and a Co-op. I mean this is what you want and wish for your new family right? Our baby will have a lovely childhood in a happy, safe place.
On the other, it is hard to say goodbye to a flat that really made us. When we moved in together we were 22 and 24 years old. We were babies, just starting out, playing house almost. We had to buy a hoover; neither of us had one. We couldn't work out how to work the washing machine. It was in this flat that we became adults, in this flat that Steve asked me to marry him and, gross too much information, in this flat that our baby began.
And we are leaving it.
It also has a kick ass, so gorgeous I could die brick wall but that is beside the point....
This week is going to be hard.
|Told you the wall was gorgeous.|