In my life I have been lucky enough to always have a “home” or really move somewhere and lay roots.  My childhood was filled with fond memories of our home as children.  We had it all – a huge backyard, with an awesome swing set, a huge pool, massive parties (a couple wedding parities, seriously) and so many memories… great memories.

My twin brother, Joey. Little sister, Nicole and the best dog in the world, Rocco (our family German Shepard – Oso has HUGE paws to fill)

When I was in 5th grade we moved to my grandma’s building, a two flat in the city.  A huge difference from our first home.  We stayed here until I we were done with grammar school.  Again, we made roots, tons of friends and enjoyed lots of family company… It was the hub. We loved it.  We got to know our grandparents so well – a gift that cannot be replaced by anything.

Greatest Grandparents Ever (2008) – Grandpa is grunting at this photo from heaven. ❤

Then my mom bought a house back near our first neighborhood.  Just in time for Joey and I to go to high school.  Another place that I will forever call home.  My mom still lives there, but so do I practically.  Our high school years were packed, basketball games, club activities, friends… More activities, you know how teenage years go.  This is also where I met my husband, the place where we had our baby shower, the area I trained for my first marathon, and where we plan to buy our first home.  My mom hates her home, but if I could afford to buy it, it’d be mine.  😉

Then I moved in with my future husband.  I was pretty young, but I’d like to think I made good decisions back then (and still do, I mean we are married, aren’t we?) and for the first time in HIS life, we stayed put.  In the first couple years of Hector and I dating he moved like five times in two years.  This was such a crazy concept to me, I simply didn’t understand the jump around.  They stayed in the same area but never lived in one place for very long.  So he had never really felt connected to a certain place, until he moved into his first apartment.  He lived there for a while, then I moved in and we stayed put for four years.  That was his first home, until life came full circle, my grandfather passed away and we moved back to my grandma’s building (a second go for me).  We have lived here for three years already.  It is home, but it isn’t our dream place or space.  But this place was our first move together, just him and I.  We got engaged here, adopted a puppy, got married and had a baby here.  Why am I talking about this?  Because it is a very real possibly we won’t be here too much longer.

Yesterday I spent the day here with my little man, and I’ve never felt so attached.  I grew up in this home, and my son was born here.  This will be his first home, which he will never remember but I will remember the first day home with him, forever.  Bringing him upstairs, placing his carseat on the floor and taking him out.  Being so exhausted that we cuddled up on the couch and fell asleep.

So although this isn’t our dream home, it is home.  I’m already sad at the thought of leaving with all the memories we packed here in such a short time.  Although moving isn’t for sure just yet, it really isn’t too far away.

I sorta want to hug the walls.  They have kept my baby safe and warm ❤