The day I got released from the hospital (Twins arrived early, more on that later.), I helped pack, then the next day we moved to our new apartment. We weren’t that into it — when we saw it, the tenants were mega-messy — dirty underwear on every radiator; the location seemed the middle of nowhere. It was affordable with three bedrooms, but it felt so far from everything we were familiar with. Turns out no one wants to rent to people with babies, so we kept getting shut out of other places, and with contractions coming hot and heavy, we had no choice but to go with dirty-underwear-on-radiator place.
Husband handled the move as I tried to take it easy, wrapping up work projects I didn’t get to before I headed to the hospital. Funny enough, it turns out I love this place. The neighborhood is dominated my immigrants and hipster types. At 8:30 pm every night, I can hear the call to prayer at some mosque nearby. And the best part? We have THREE bedrooms! I’m not raising a gajillion children in a studio — yay!