16 bit love

When I was a kid, we had a book called Mitchell is Moving about a dinosaur who decides one day he needs a change of scenery and moves across . . . the swamp? "I am a moving Mitchell!" he says throughout the book. When he gets to where he's going, though, he realizes how much he misses his friend, Margo. Luckily, she decides to move right next door to his new place. I've lost track of how many times I've moved (it was over a dozen times before I started college.) Every time, I hear Mitchell's self-affirming mantra in my mind. "I am a moving Emily!"

But really, moving stinks. Even when you know the move is for the best, you have to let go of a part of your past. I looked up our current address on Google Maps today and used street view to see our building. It's the same picture we've posted here before (though I can't for the life of me find which post) which has our car w/ Utah plates and our neighbors sitting on the stoop. It's still funny to me that they're in the picture, but this time I realized I could name each person in that picture, even the blurred, white-t-shirted boys running by.

For how long have I complained about our neighbors' smoke habits, or our nasty carpeting, or the run-down neighborhood? For how long have I dreamed of living in Bay Ridge, like it's the Happy Valley of Brooklyn? I'm sure the ward members who live down there think I'm such a wannabe. But now that we're getting down to it, it's hard to leave.

That picture on Google maps is from the fall of 2007, not long after we moved in. I remember sitting on our couch in this living room, as Adam told me he'd lost his job at the Moderns. I remember walking quietly into our bedroom and telling Adam when I found out I was pregnant with Elizabeth. It was in this living room I went through hours of labor. Heck, I almost gave birth to her right here. It's staggering to think of all we've been through in the last 2 1/2 years. Now the living room is lined with packed boxes and the walls are completely blank. I won't miss the smoke or the noise or the cracked tile or the sleeping arrangements, but I feel like when we move I'll be missing a piece of myself.

Good thing, I suppose, that there's more of me each day to make up for any losses. Here are some pics to chart my expanding sense of self:

14 weeks


17 weeks


21 weeks

What's really fun is standing next to my friend, Naomi, who is as far along as I am and just looks like a normal woman with a less-than-flat stomach. But I'm not complaining. I know some day not far from now I'll probably look like this poor soul:

But hey! At least she's smiling! (Maybe it's the beer cup she's holding, as Adam so kindly pointed out AFTER I'd uploaded the image. Oh well. Let's pretend it has water in it.)