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This past week we completely moved out of our old house and into our new house.

As much as I loathed our old house, I couldn't help but forlornly looking back into it as I shut our front door for the last time. This is the house that my baby girl came home to, where she smiled for the first time, and where I felt her kicking me for so many months. So many 'firsts' happened there. Someday, when we visit Provo, we'll drive by this house and tell her how this was her first home. We'll tell her how the washing machine tore up our clothes and flooded the basement. We'll tell her about the noisy helicopter that used to fly overhead and wake her up. We'll laugh as we recount the first time she called for her mama from the other room.

All we have now are pictures and memories. The good news is that this new home is a better fit for us. Lily will have a fenced backyard to romp around in, a playground to meet new friends in, and her very own playhouse that is built into the kitchen. This is the house she will call home for at least the next five years. Maybe longer, if husband decides to get his doctorate (doubtful). 

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