I don't think I saw more than sky and cornfields on our drive. My seat was reclined as far as it would go. Griffin made his presence known by alternating baby feet and baby butt in my ribs. NPR played on the radio, but not much else. For many hours, the radio was off. We were lost in thought.
We discussed selling our home versus renting it. We had two offers on the table, but one offer was falling through due to financing. The second offer was for $11,000 less. As we drove closer to Iowa, the distance between our new life in Iowa and our Tallahassee life swelled. Renting out our home had seemed like a good idea four states back. Crossing into the 5th state, renting just felt like too much. But give up our home for $28,500 less than what we paid for it 3 years previous? That felt like too much too.
That Tallahassee home was our 1st marital home. We purchased it just a few weeks before saying "I do". We hung curtains in that home--and had our first big, silly fight when Erik dropped a hammer on our shiny hardwood floors. (You don't even use a hammer to hang curtains.)
We bought a dining room table for that home. We could never find a way to make a table fit in our DC apartment. We could have put it in our over-sized bathroom, but who wants to eat dinner next to the toilet?
We painted our bedroom a Quiet Moments blue. The name of the color sounded romantic to me. I had painted the back of the built-ins a deep turquoise blue--just like Young House Love did in their new home. I loved the way it looked and the way different colors popped from the wall.
During the blazing heat of July 2011, we built a paver patio with our own two hands. We transplanted the grass. We dug up hundreds of pounds of clay. We wheeled bucket after bucket of gravel and sand up the hill into the back yard. We carried stone after stone. We both lost 10 pounds of sweat that week, but we built a patio. Erik accepted his college job on that patio.
We created life in that home. I took pregnancy test, and it turned positive in that home. I sent Erik on a scavenger hunt around that home to find the grand prize--a scarf for our hound, Cooper, announcing that he was going to be a big brother and Erik a father. Our baby's heartbeat was first heard in that home. Erik felt our baby kick for the first time in that home.
Hours were spent in that garden tub in the master bath. Television was watched in that garden tub. Tears were shed in that garden tub. Aching muscles were soothed in that garden tub. Love was shared in that garden tub. Our baby boy loved to kick, kick, kick in that garden tub. During the final months of pregnancy, I didn't want to leave that garden tub. I wanted to give birth in that garden tub.
When we crossed into Iowa, I cried all over again. There was nothing but miles and miles of CORN. I don't even like to eat corn. Erik often argues that it's a vegetable, but I argue that it's a starchy, nasty carbohydrate. We stopped at a Walmart in the midst of nowhere so that I could pee...again. In the bathroom, I cried again.
Eventually, we made it to Ames, Iowa. It was too late to see the town, but I remember stepping out the car--my beat up '99 Chevrolet Lumina that had taken me from Nashville to Birmingham to New Orleans to Philadelphia to DC to Tallahassee and now to Iowa. The moon was big and bright. The final traces of daylight were drifting away. The humidity was gloriously low. There wasn't a single mosquito in sight. After I did an awkward pregnant move to get out of the car, I took a moment to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The temperature was slightly cooler than Tallahassee, making it easier to breathe. I looked around. This was it. We had arrived.
We had arrived . . . at a Best Western.
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