This time next week, we'll finally have made the big move to our new place in Oak Park. It's been a huge point of anxiety and stress for me ever since we were approved for the place, and began hammering out time lines for when we would be there. Because of the huge chunk o' cash needed for the first month's rent PLUS security deposit (1 1/2 mos rent ... ay dios mio!,) it was concerning at first that we'd be able to make our...er, my deadline of June 1st (*I'm having a really hard time accepting the whole 'can't lift this/that' and 'taking it easy' stuff, and want to be able to contribute as much as I can, while I can.) BUT, we got a budget together and a plan and I've been really pleased with how everything has come together to make it all happen. Kudos to us, and for those of our family and friends who are providing more support and help than we could've hoped for.
The place? Awesome. I think we both knew as soon as we walked in and peeked around it was where we wanted to be. SO much friggin' space for the kitties to roam around in, and I about pooped my pants when I spied the jumbo-sized kitchen with counterspacegalore, and a vintage butcher's block built in to the wall (SQUEE!) The neighborhood is ridiculously charming, and nearly everything (and I mean everything: library, movie theater, restaurants, farmer's market, metra AND cta,) is within a stone's throw from the apartment. Oh yeah, and there's a Five Guys down the block, too. Score one for the Beast :-)
As much as I'm anticipating being in our new place, tonight - as I continue the arduous task of packing up my little life in flimsy cardboard boxes - I can't help but start to feel slightly nostalgic about leaving this old place. I've been at the same address for almost as long as I've lived in the city, give a year. It's been my haven and my sanctuary, and first "permanent" address since...well, ever.
As the young child of a divorced family, I was constantly shuttled between residencies: weekdays with Mom, weekends with Dad. Some nights I would spend with grandparents, while Mom (or Dad) worked the night shift. As I got older, things changed...but not really: I got a little more say over my "this house/that house" schedule, but the older I got, the more crap I had to lug around - I always felt as if I was living out of a suitcase. Hell, most of the time I actually was. College came, and I was thrilled to finally have all my shit in one place. But with every year came a new dorm, or a new apartment, and EVERY summer I found myself where I find myself tonight: among a tower of cardboard boxes, armed to the teeth with packing tape and a Sharpie. So I'm beginning to understand exactly why I never bothered to move the last few years, and why this move is causing me to lash out irrationally at Sean when he (what I perceive to be) carelessly removes the magnetic poetry from the side of the dishwasher.
This was THE first place that was truly MY place. A home of my own creation. And just as I'm finally in that comfy zone, I'm find myself abandoning it to move to new place that will never, ever be just my place. It will be ours. (Then later this year...ours + 1.) And that's exciting, yes...but terrifying, too.
I wonder if having this kid will ever make me NOT feel sometimes like such a scared, helpless little kid myself.
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