As I was sitting in my bathroom last night (for one of the last nights before it is torn out) I looked over at the little tile ledge leading into my shower that Hudson always sits on while I am brushing my teeth, and tears welled up. He always says “look mama, I’m sitting right here!” but before he could speak, he’d sit on it and grin really wide. He has done it since we moved into this house, when he was under a year old, and it always brought a little smile to my face. It’s one of those very small moments that I’ve never captured, but that I’ll always remember fondly when I think of our home “before” our renovation, before all of the spaces get torn out and rebuilt.
When we closed on this home, Hudson was only 10 months old. He wasn’t crawling or talking yet, and while I thought I’d feel emotional saying goodbye to the apartment I was pregnant and brought him home to, I oddly felt very little, since our memories of him so small were mostly of us bathing him or changing his diapers, not interacting with him as a person like we do now. I vividly remember painting our kitchen cabinets on my own, with Hudson in a playpen right next to me in between Gymboree classes two Fall’s ago. I painted our bedroom, kitchen and living room during his nap time. I put my everything into our house, making it a home as best as I could, despite all of its shortcomings and need for improvement. I took our tiny master bedroom and created a space we’ve loved for a year and a half with West Elm, hanging all of the shelving and mirrors all by myself, even if I barely knew what I was doing. I spent an entire afternoon installing wallpaper by myself while playing oldies records and sipping on coffee. To me, making this house my own was creative and romantic – I could do WHATEVER I wanted to it, and in that process I fell in love with it, and all of the wild unpredictable memories it provided to my family, like Thanksgiving with no power in half of the house, or winters where our heat would fail and we’d have space heaters in every room.
It’s funny how in life sometimes we build up this THING we’re working toward as THE thing that will bring us the most happiness, or will make us feel the most complete. For us, it has been this renovation. We’ve been counting down the months until we could afford it, or we had our rental plan figured out, and it has been somewhat looming over us as we’ve lived here. I worked harder than I’ve ever worked last year to save up for this renovation, and prepare for all that it will entail, and now we’re finally here, a mere day away from our move, but all I can feel while I sit here is nostalgic for all of the moments housed within these walls, walls that will forever change and morph into something completely different. This struggle is over, we won this battle, and while I know I am going to walk back into our fixed up home with a shiny new kitchen and bathrooms and central AC and all of the things we’ve hoped and dreamed of, I can’t help but feel sad tearing down all of the effort and work and beautiful spaces I’ve loved and lived in and raised my baby in and grew my business with over the past year and a half. I feel so lucky that we’re able to create a space that works better for our family, but I never want to forget the small details, like how Hudson saw snow for the first time out of our master bedroom window, or sitting and bathing him in our mint green bathroom that we’ll be saying goodbye to. Maybe I am just too sentimental, or maybe it’s a projection of my sadness over how quickly my baby is growing up – it’s probably a combination of all of it. Regardless, we’re on to a new season of life, and we’re closing this chapter. I think I’ll feel sad seeing the house during demolition, torn to shreds, but as I see it rebuilt I’ll feel rejuvenated by the idea of a fresh start.
… I’ll be back to let you know, of course. Do you get nostalgic during moves or renovations? Let me know in the comments.
