We're moving in five weeks. To a new part of the state (country really), to a new house. New friends, new everything.
This is the big goal, this is what we have worked toward for ten years, when Matt started his pre-calc and bio classes as a post-baccalaureate student at Texas State University in the hopes of some day applying to medical school. In five weeks, he will graduate from residency and will take his first job as a board-eligible emergency physician, and we are moving to a new and beautiful place with mountains, ocean, and thick redwood forests.
We have had a beautiful three years here in Hermosa Beach, but we are so ready for this change, to live in a more spacious part of the country with fewer freeways, less congestion, and larger yards.
But I'm so sentimental lately. First, in the TWELVE (!) years that Matt and I have lived together, we have never lived in an apartment as long as we have lived in this tiny beachside place. We signed this lease before going overseas for our
pre-residency backpacking trip to SE Asia, from which
I returned pregnant, and we breathed a sigh of relief that we had selected a (very small) two-bedroom apartment. The landlord was great, the rent was shockingly decent, the place was cute, and the location was outstanding. We figured that after the kiddo arrived we'd upgrade to something bigger, but it just never happened. Every time we found a place and almost signed a lease, we backed out - the cost of moving (often $5-7000 with deposits, here in LA) and the time and work just didn't seem worth it.
At times, this tiny place has made me feel crazy. I'm not good at design or organization, and the place does not get an ocean breeze, so it's very hot in the summer. Since we basically assumed that we'd be moving, there were certain things I never did that could have made it feel more homey: like taking down the industrial-looking rough-cut blackout curtain fabric sheets that cover our bedroom windows so Matt can sleep after night shifts...or like getting an actual dresser in Leo's room, instead of a plastic bin with drawers.
At times, it just felt like a stepping-stone place. An apartment where we were living while we looked to find something that suited our life as a family better.
But...
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(Can you BELIEVE what you are seeing? Yup, I used to let Matt nap!)
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The walking-distance views are, quite simply, incredible.
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This was where we prepared for Leo's arrival.
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And this was the last place that we lived as just a couple.
He's going to kill me for this, his "first day of residency" picture! I sent it to our moms.
Below, first Hermosa surf (and what pregnant wife did to pass the time while he surfed)
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And, of course, this was our son's first home.
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I learned what it was like to live right next to the beach and to visit anytime I wanted. I learned that baby powder gets sand off of skin like nothing else. I learned that there is no limit to the height of SPF through which I will burn, and that a lightweight scarf, when worn correctly, can be fashionable and practical as beachwear.
This was where I lived when
I became a mother and
experienced all of the love, pain, and sacrifice that comes with that title. This was where I watched my husband become a physician and experience of all the love, pain and sacrifice that comes with that title. This was where, despite having had many good friendships in my life, I found friendship on a different level -
friends that I learned to lean on like family when I needed them, and I learned how to be a good friend in return.
I learned what hard work really was. I learned how to set a goal and work towards it. I learned how to run and I learned how to cook.
I know all the parks. I know every store that has a Thomas the Train table within a ten-mile radius. I know which mall has a glass-windowed elevator that, when my son is sick and we have to get out of the house and it's raining, he will ride happily for a half hour. I know where all of the swingsets and bathrooms are located at every stretch of beach within biking distance.
My life changed so much here. I'll miss it. I'll miss the places, the people, the familiarity.
But I am so ready for our next adventure.
