Musings | On Change

When I was pregnant with Duke, I made the hilarious assumption that he would sleep sometimes and so I made an executive decision to put him in the bedroom with a door. So he could sleep uninterrupted. Oh lolololol.

Now I know that most bedrooms have doors, but our upstairs is sort of a loft. There are two bedrooms that are basically a half wall away from our living room, and you can look out over said living room from both, as if leaning over a balcony. And then there is one little bedroom in the corner, completely enclosed, with a door. Duke's bedroom.

So this is where it gets emotional. All the love and care and preparation that went into making that tiny room a bedroom for my baby. For years, as things changed - taking out the changing table, moving in a bookshelf, swapping a crib for a big boy bed - these would make me so nostalgic. To stand in that room and remember what it was and watching it grow up with the boy who still hardly ever sleeps there. I just felt the passage of time so strongly. 

This is George, who has always been grateful for Duke's absence in his bedroom. George slept in the most expensive dog bed of all time for roughly 6 years. 

A few weeks ago, it occurred to me that Duke should have the bigger bedroom now that I'm less concerned with protecting his sleep. I've been using it for an office for the last couple of years, but figured we could swap the rooms pretty easily. I made the mistake of casually suggesting it to him before I was actually committed to the idea. So obviously he became obsessed. 

There's a lot of reasons that this makes sense. It's bigger, it's carpeted, it has better windows and is easier to climate control. I do work from home quite a bit now, so I do need an office but the smaller room is more than sufficient. So one night, while Ryan and Duke were away together, I dismantled his bed, and my bookshelf. I dragged my desk through the hallway. I swept in the corner. I washed his sheets and remade his bed. I filled the closet with his clothes. No woman is stronger than one who is motivated to move furniture by herself. 

And when he came home, he was excited. And then he dragged his mattress into my bedroom and slept on the floor next to my bed. (A generous reminder that while things change, they also stay the same). 

I don't hate change as a rule. I hate feeling like a chapter is irreversibly closing. 

I'm struggling with knowing what's next for me in a lot of different aspects. I feel strongly that it's time for me to move on in at least one area of my life where I hit a ceiling years ago. I don't mean to be vague, but I won't put it in concrete words because I don't want decisions to be made for me. The point is, my only hesitation is this: am I ready to close this chapter? 

And the answer is currently no. I'm not. I'm not afraid to begin again. I'm afraid of regret. I have always had the fight in my head between the devil I know and the devil I don't and it's the one I don't know that often drives the ship. He is afraid of change that cannot be reversed, and knows all too well that here are some chapters that, once closed, cannot be reopened. 

I quit my job a couple years ago, but left my foot in the doorjamb, wide enough to reopen it. And then I did!  I came back and I was so grateful that I could. But that added strength to a spirit that waffles on making no-looking-back decisions. I looked back and longed for my old life and this is perhaps one of those rare instances where I could come back and also come home. I slipped right back into my old routines, resuming life as if I'd never paused at all. I flipped back a page, stepping into an old chapter, and continued writing it. 

I wonder if every chapter is editable. I was listening to Arm Chair Expert this week and the anomaly in which two people are married, and get divorced, and then remarry each other came up. I wonder if they are flipping back a few pages and adding on to the chapter that they thought was closed - or are they starting new ones entirely? 

Very often, I write things down to begin working through them, and this is one of those instances. I don't know the answers obviously. I don't know if I'll move Duke to the bedroom downstairs some day, or back in the little corner room, or is this all moot and the next time Duke moves at all is when he moves out of my house, and I'll just wish for this little bedroom conundrum instead. 

Sometimes change must hurt. But I am learning that complacency also hurts, and it's a steadier sting. 

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Related:

On phases. 

Everything changes, but it all stays the same. 

Change is good....circa 2020. 

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Quick shopping break:

I'm getting a little frantic over two people I have not quite finished my Christmas shopping for - tick-freaking-tock! I found some interesting stuff at Brass Monkey that fits the bill of interesting stuff that one might not purchase for themselves. 

I reported out on this spendy face cream that I was devastated to find that I love, but happily I share that this $10 tub is a workhorse that I also cannot live without. I swear by it. 

I buy myself most of my own Christmas presents, wrap those babies up and feign surprise on Christmas morning. "Santa" is considering these sneaks (and needs to pull the trigger fast!).

Also from "Santa", Sephora is offering 20% off full size fragrances this week and I think I'm going to grab a big ol' bottle of my standby, By the Fireplace. Sephora coming in hot this month with so many big discounts. 

Duke's Elf brought these Christmas tattoos from the North Pole this week. We are both sporting the most festive sleeves. 

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Happy Weekending folks!