You may have noticed that it’s been a bit quiet on On a Good Day recently. Turns out it’s tough to fit in blogging when you’re in the midst of moving house. We’re just now starting to settle in our new place, although plenty of things are still in boxes, and so I feel ready to start writing again.
It’s a strange feeling, owning a home for the first time after spending my entire life renting. There’s the freedom to do as we like with the house, after having to live with the imperfections of many rental homes, but also the responsibility that comes with not being able to call a landlord or letting agent to fix any problems.
Our daughter seems to have adapted pretty well to her new home, after a little confusion in the first few days. Although the house is a little smaller than our previous one, it’s better laid out, easier for her to run around. There will even be a garden, even if right now it’s just a large patch of soil.
I moved from my first home at at a similar age that my daughter is now, just under two. I have no memory at all of that first home, so I guess my daughter won’t remember her first home either. It’s a shame in a way. Even though it was only ever intended to be a stopgap, a place to stay after moving back to Leeds until we could afford to but our own place, it holds a lot of memories.
As I wandered round the old house for the last time yesterday, now bare of our possessions, I remembered the good times and bad. The journeys to and from and hospital, the panicky first few days with our baby. Watching the World Cup with her asleep on my shoulder. The sleepless nights and long summer days. The first steps, the first words, so many firsts.
It was the place I got to know this strange, beautiful creature that is my daughter, and it was the first place we were a family. So there is melancholy, but no regret. Now to get on with the business of creating a new home, and new memories.