I fell in love with our house the moment I walked through the door.
A 3 bed full of period charm. It would ‘do’ for a couple of years.
6 years later we’re finally on the move. The 3 bed is now a 4 bed; the garden has grass and flowers rather than mud; we’ve discovered treasures galore buried at the bottom of the garden and under the stairs.
This was the first house my name appeared on the paperwork. The house I got engaged in, left from to be married, conceived my babies and returned triumphant from the local hospital with my bundles of joy.
So many happy memories, initially just mine but now also of first teeth, first steps, first words, and the height chart under the stairs charting the growth of my precious children. Not that they will remember this house but I’m so glad I’ve photographed every moment.
Now our house bears the estate agents mark, loudly proclaiming it is looking for new owners. And we’ve been looking at new houses, potential new homes, places where new milestones will be reached and new memories made. It feels a little like being unfaithful to my trusted friend (not that I’d know), but also exciting.