Henry's Home

I took this picture because I always want to remember the way our bedroom was lit, every night newborn Henry slept peacefully in his bassinet next to our bed. For three whole months, we slept in this light...too afraid to turn it off because we wouldn't be able to check Henry's breathing/swaddling/temperature/diaper (omg really?) every fifteen minutes.

Time is escaping me and already it's time for us to start looking for a new house. We walked through an apartment last weekend, but it was so dark and gloomy and not for us. Two days later our landlord called to inform us that we can rent month to month at our current house, if we'd like.

Walking back into our home after looking at the new apartment felt good. It felt right. And it was then I realized that no new house, no brand new apartment could ever compare to this tiny little rental we've made ours for the past year. Yeah, the neighborhood is pretty much the worst (we've had multiple break-ins, a suicide, and a homicide) but this home? This is Henry's home.

Inside, safe from all of the crap that our neighborhood attracts, is the bed where I'd lay for hours, trying to imagine what our life would be like with a new baby. Inside that drafty front door we hate so much, is the bedroom I first nursed my tiny Henry to sleep. The kitchen where two flustered 25 year olds learned how to bathe a squirmy baby and swaddle a fragile infant. The living room where Garrison played, "Henry VII" on guitar while Henry smiled back at him. The hardwood floors that Henry learned to crawl on and the bedrooms where he grew to love books and music.

I'm not ready to say goodbye to this place. It's already hard to accept that my baby is nine months old, and moving to a new place? I honestly don't think my heart could take it. Staying here for a few more months sounds pretty great to me.