At the end of this month, we will have been in our house for a year. And we have no plans of moving anytime soon.
I can't tell you what this does for me - how much even saying that makes me smile and relax a little more. We have moved, gosh, I really can't remember the number now, but something like 10 times? 12 times? in the past 8 years. The last time we were anywhere longer than a year was in 2003. But here we are, back in our hometown, owning (well, paying a mortgage on) a house, making plans for paint and landscape. Not packing a thing.
We bought this house just after the second miscarriage. In retrospect, I can see now how depressed I was. Moving with a baby took more energy than seemed possible at the time. I was overwhelmed, then - briefly - better, then pregnant again. Which means that projects that could have been done in the first three months still have not been finished (that's why one wall of my bedroom is painted, nothing else, and the bathrooms are still waiting on plates for the fixtures, four months after they were painted). It's not complete, but it's ours to do. And I love it. I love the layout of our house - it's perfect for toddlers to lap. I love the size of the bedrooms, I love the front yard, I love our neighbors (I could do without the vacant house next door, but oh well). I love where we are, in space and in life.
So forgive me if I gloat a little as we pass the end of September and I don't have to plan for deposits. Somehow I seem to have stumbled into a home. Finally.