I didn't want to blog about moving. I even wrote another blog post, a "how we met" post joining the bandwagon of everyone else "how we met"ing, but the writing was choppy. And the story boring. It didn't flow. And I'm moving tomorrow. Tomorrow. So you get a moving post. Sorry.
Everything echoes. Abigail locked herself in her empty room and yelled into the echo-y void today. In between naps, the cats have commenced freak-out mode. We took a farewell stroll through the neighbor and said goodbye to everything we liked and didn't like about living here.
I am really, really sick of moving. This is our 7th move in five years of marriage. This is Abigail's 4th bedroom in her two short years. For me personally, this is my 15th move, not counting all the dorm, home-for-the-summer, dorm-again moves during the college years. I am very honestly burnt out. I want to live in our next apartment for at least two years. Maybe three or even four if it means our next move is into our dream home. I wanna spend two Christmases under the same roof. Celebrate two birthdays in one city. Buy a specific shelf to fit in a certain space. Unpack my fine china.
I love Chicago, I really do. I never saw it coming. I didn't think I'd fall in love so hard and fast. I wish we could live here forever. I've done urban, suburban, and rural. I've done mid-west, I've done sub-tropics, I've done beach town, college town, farming town, rich town, poor town. And lost my heart to Chicago.
Tomorrow morning at 8am, we'll pick up a Uhaul. At 9am, movers will arrive. Somewhere around 12pm, Matt will drive a Uhaul and I will drive two kitties and a toddler in a manual Focus back to Michigan. Somewhere in between 5-7pm (depending on how many times we have to stop, plus the lost hour), we will arrive in Michigan, unload the Uhaul, set up only our bed and the crib. We'll lay in our new room and stare at our new ceiling. Our future in our new world will be exciting and unknown, therefore it will come with a hint of scary.
I know it will take a little while, but eventually that foreign ceiling will start to look familiar, and then become home.