Leaving home: a bittersweet realization

As I mentioned in the past couple of posts I’ve written, Blaine and I got married last weekend. For about a year-and-a-half leading up to the wedding, he and I have been preparing our future home with the help of our wonderful contractor, trying to get it ready for us to live in.

I predicted that our house would be ready to be moved into a few days before the wedding, and lo and behold, that’s exactly what occurred. I’m not too upset, nor is Blaine; we have slowly been moving our things into the house, trying to get situated, and we hope to be living there with full amenities within the next week or so.

Blaine is certainly making more of a move than I am; he is moving out to Mount Pleasant, coming from Burford, whereas I am literally moving out of my parents’ house only to move into a different house they own right next door.

I told my parents they couldn’t get rid of me that easily. Muahahaha.

In all seriousness, though, Blaine and I acknowledge how damn fortunate we are to be able to move into a completely renovated home which was constructed in accordance with what we wanted. We are significantly blessed and grateful to my mom and dad.

I’ve been packing up all of my shit now that the wedding itself is over, and while I am super excited to move into a new space with my husband and make it our home, I’m also quite sad to move out. I’ve lived in the same house for the past 27 years, so it has a lot of sentimentality and emotion tied to it. I’m literally moving next door, so I realize I sound a wee bit ridiculous, but because I have had such a loving, nurturing and supportive home life for as long as I have, moving out hasn’t exactly been easy for me.

A lot of us are thrilled to move out of our parent’s house and be on our own, and while I certainly am excited to live with my husband, I’m also feeling quite emotional about leaving my family.

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