Goodbye 27th Street

Judah slept until 5:15 this morning! (Two weeks ago, that would not have been a positive exclamation, but JuJu's sleep has been off for a while, and Derek and I have both found ourselves sleeping with him on the couch in the last 10 days.) He picked a great night to sleep, as Derek and I were up late last night packing up the hidden corners of the house, and will spend the day moving everything that is left over to the new place.

It's moving day!

I can't tell if it's some weird desire to make it sentimental, or a fear that I am missing irretrievable milestone moments in the chaos that has become the new normal over here, but I have been mentally compiling a list of lasts: last time brushing my teeth in the bathroom I painted no fewer than three times. Last time nursing Judah opposite the fireplace in the morning. Last blog posted from my wee corner desk, and probably, sadly, the last time I'll wake up in my first house, the house we became a family in and brought our babies home to. (I say probably because a tiny delusional part of me still holds out hope for a bitty nap before everyone wakes up... what are the chances?)

I know, I really do, that along with all the lasts come an even longer list of firsts. Our new home has already been an unthinkable blessing, and MORE amazing has been the help we have had from family and friends, particularly my mom. She is quick to shush away my humble gratitude, saying how much she loves to do it. (She really could make a profession out of organizing moves. I have never seen a person so organized and driven on someone else's behalf.) I am not being superciliously complimentary when I say that I do not know what this move would have looked like without my mom's help, and I will be forever grateful for the love she has shown me by her organizational and design talents.

Pictures soon enough, my dearies. I ordered my new lens, which should come right in the middle of unpacking. Perfect diversion! Now... time for a nap?