These four walls…

It’s silly really, that I’ve let myself become so attached when I knew all along that this would happen.

As some of you may remember, I used to live in the south of France, but a change of circumstance at work meant that, in order to still have a job, we had to relocate, and Belfast was the destination. It was a blessing in disguise in all honesty, as my better half was six months pregnant and our grasp of the French language was basic at best.

Anyway, I’m waffling. We found ourselves a lovely house and have since gone about making it a home.

The only problem being is that we are renting, and now our landlord is looking to sell the house.

To be honest, I don’t know why I was so blind to the possibility of it happening. I’d just presumed that our lease would be renewed and that’d be that, we’d just carry on regardless.

Instead I’m in the position of searching for a new home for me and my family, and going through the rigmarole of moving house with a baby on board. It’s less than ideal.

Moaning about having to move wasn’t meant to be the focus of this post though, it was more about the memories that I’ll have to leave behind.

Early days

Early days

My little boy is seven months and five days old today, and, barring the first two days of his life, he’s spent every night in our house. It will always be the house that I was sat in when I received the call from the hospital delivery suite telling me that it was time. It will always be the house that I went back to that night, shattered, emotional, and filled with utter joy. It will always be the house that I brought my little boy and his mum back to when he was okay to leave the hospital. It will always be the house we spent our first long and sleepless night in as a family. It will always be our first family home.

I’m not bothered about the money and time that I’ve invested into the house. That’s perhaps just a bit silly on my behalf, investing in a house that isn’t mine, but everyone likes their home to be nice, don’t they?

The thing about our current house is we’ve genuinely no bad memories of it. Every place – at some point or another – has a bad memory attached to it. Whether it’s a stain on the carpet from an argument that got out of hand, or a certain point in the house where someone hurt themselves, we’ve none of those. We just have memories of our little man’s first smile, our dancing around the kitchen, his first bath with his daddy, our first Christmas and New Year together, or the first time he pulled himself up on the sofa. It’s all good and it’s all positive.



But, at the end of the day, I suppose it’s only four walls. It’ll be up to us to make a new house a home. And while I’d rather not leave this place behind, or have to go through the moving process, it’s time to find somewhere suitable for a whole load of new memories.

As our little man grows up, we’ll have plenty more memorable moments, and though we won’t forget the ones that took place in our old home, we can cherish the ones that we make in our new family home.