Good Like a Medicine

Dear House,

You know I love you. And you know it’s dangerous when anyone starts a conversation with that.

Oh, my dear house, I am sorry that I have neglected you this week, but it needs to be said: “I can’t take you anymore right now. I need some space.” I know, you’re thinking, “Isn’t 2000 square feet of space plenty?!” But that’s just it. It’s too much, and I think I’m daydreaming about living in a camper right now. I know, it’s hard, but you’ll be fine. I’ll come back to you … well, I’ll come back sometime I’m sure. Maybe when my baby is three months old?

It hurts me just as much as it hurts you. I’m having to completely push aside a nagging nesting instinct. For now enjoy the mountain air from the peaks of laundry on the couches. Make friends with the little groupies of crumbs that have assembled themselves on to your floors. You’ll get by. Just do what I’m doing: look away and laugh!