Five years ago on a bright December morning. I sat in my kitchen surrounded by boxes. Alternating emptying them with sitting and looking with awe at our new home. A tiny Milla swimming happily in my tummy.
Our little tardis-esq house, tucked away in a wood smoke-scented street. The house that when I walked inside I could imagine bringing my babies home to. We poured everything we had into moving here and what hopes we had for it.
We made lists over the days that followed. Lists of where things should go, of what needed fixing or decorating. Lists of vegetables for the newly ordered raised beds and of things to do before the baby arrived.
The lists got longer, paint peeled, cracks got bigger, housework was ignored. None of that registered because babies arrived and we were too busy falling in love with them. Knowing the to do list would keep but the babies would not. Slowly, very slowly that’s how we move through our life.
And before we knew it, five years had passed. Five years since we made this our home. Five years in the blink of an eye because wasn’t I just emptying the boxes a minute ago. Five years filling this house with our noise, mess, love and memories.
Home is where the heart is and my heart is curled up on the sofa by the fire surrounded by my family.