A New Home

About a month ago, Sal and I started to get serious about moving. With Ginny starting to walk we knew the cozy confines of our one bedroom apartment weren’t going to cut it. We cast out our net, got notifications on our phone about new listings, and started viewing apartments. About two weeks into the process, we saw a gorgeous two bedroom apartment in South Slope, about 20 blocks from where we currently live.

I thought to myself “This would make a lovely apartment for somebody.”

I shared photos with my husband and he said “This is it!”

“This is it?” I thought. “Is it?”

He scheduled a time to see it after work, saw the hood range over the oven, and was convinced this apartment was for us. It had a dishwasher, new kitchen, and the coup d'etat – an in-suite washer and dryer. But it was also a third floor walk-up. Again.

“I’m just not sure.” I said, flashing back to making multiple trips up and down the stairs with the baby, diaper bag, stroller, and groceries.

“This is it.” He said. 

Ginny could have a huge bedroom at the opposite end of the apartment. There would be more privacy. More space. And there was the washer and dryer to consider. No more shuffling up and down the stairs, meticulously keeping track of quarters, or scheduling laundry trips during nap time. It was surely something to consider.

But as of late, I had the feeling like my heart has been in cruise control. My days are so blurred with making lunches, reading board books, and watching over Ginny that I feel a little out of flow. But I trust my husband and I appreciated his unrelenting certainty. After all, our old apartment was the apartment where we got engaged, had the idea for Dream, Girl, got married, made the movie, got pregnant, had our baby. This is where Ginny learned to crawl, said her first words, and took her first few steps. I felt like our whole life happened in this apartment. So perhaps I was a little biased. 

So we talked, and talked, and talked. And in the end this would be the best move for our family. Ginny would finally move out of the walk-in closet and get her own room. We could even get her one of those play kitchens. She would have space.

I said goodbye to the apartment building we’d lived in for eight years and we signed the lease. It was bitter sweet to say goodbye, but I just kept thinking about Ginny in that play kitchen. We were doing this for her. We were doing this for us. 

Around that time Sal started working from home. The coronavirus was on the rise, and his job wanted him to keep safe and off the subway. Watching what happened in Italy we knew the city wasn’t going to be operational for long so we pushed up our move date to get into our new apartment, which luckily was already empty. 

48 hours after deciding on the apartment, we moved into it. We packed up our life, her toys, our memories and carried it down and up three new flights of stairs. 

New York went into a stay-safe-at-home-state and I started unpacking boxes and building Ginny’s new kitchen. About a week later we made another big decision, to go to Buffalo to stay with my parents. With the streets and grocery stores super crowded and our new walker darting all over, we knew Ginny would need more space to run and be a kid. So with a heavy heart we relocated again. Packed up our car, our cat, and clothes and toys for who knows how long. 

We got to Buffalo about a week ago. 

And to be honest, it's been hard. I feel like I’m grieving the fresh start we were about to embark on as a family. I feel uncertain, and unsure. Tiny tears of stress and overwhelm fall throughout the day. I’m scared for the health of my family and friends. I’m scared for all the healthcare and grocery store workers, and small businesses that won’t survive. My friends that are living alone, and the ones who are struggling to make sense of it all. But most of all I’m scared of the stress and how Ginny will emotionally process all these changes. 

Yesterday it was an unusually warm sunny day. 

I took Ginny on a walk and then to the backyard to explore. 

She propped herself up on my parents porch and grabbed a little stick, using it to scrape the leaves. She was happy, content, and keeping herself busy in the sunshine.

I thought to myself “This is it.” This is where we are meant to be. For her. And for us.

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Wishing you all a moment of peace and love during this trying time. 

Thinking of you,

Written by Erin Bagwell
Copy edited by Diana Matthews