I discovered how truly hard it was to move while moving. I was packing up various things in Alan's room, when I remembered all the nights I spent with Alan in his room: dressing him, rocking him to sleep, playing with him and comforting him when he woke up scared at night. Alan took his first bath in this bathtub. He learned how to use the potty with that toilet. This was MY child's childhood home and we were getting rid of it! I had to take a break from packing then.
Cleaning the place after we had fully moved out seemed even harder. I kept making up excuses to not clean or to leave the house earlier, subconsciously because I did not want to end this. Cleaning was closure for this apartment and I was no where near ready for that. I remember crying while scrubbing the wall that Alan chose to make his canvas, hating that I had to end it. Maybe I am a little over emotional about it (my mom and sister would call me emo, I hate that word lol) but I just keep thinking about how my parents still live in my childhood home and I can see it whenever I please. I'm not sure how I would feel if they did not anymore, but that is not the case.
I think our landlord had just as much of a hard time with us moving as we did. Our landlord literally watched Alan grow up from a baby to a preschooler and was there through Anna's pregnancy with us. He is an older gentleman and all of his family hails from the East Coast, so he took a liking to us. We exchanged Christmas cards and trick or treated at his house every year. My landlord did ask us to continue doing these things and we promised him we would. He is kinda like a third grandpa to our kids! We do love him!
|Alan loves that he has two doors to his bedroom!|
Even though I will always love that old house, I am glad that we have finally moved out and moved on. This time around, the change does feel good.