Greetings from misty, wet, bewildering, welcoming Luton. And from the much reduced but still evident chaos of our beautiful new home. We’ve made it. The furniture and boxes are all here. Most things work. We have beds to sleep in (although Jesse has just worked out how to climb out of his – yikes). The boxes in the house have mainly been unpacked (the others have been moved to the man-cave). Life here is slowly beginning to unfurl.
Everyone is asking how we’re settling in, and how I’m finding my feet in a new place. It’s just overwhelming, to be honest. It’s been a month now, but a week of that was spent in Ireland, and half of each week I’ve been commuting to work, which now takes two hours each way. I leave in the dark, and arrive back in the dark, and in between there is a lot of waddling. There have been days when I felt like the major achievement of the day was simply reaching the office (but apparently I was also expected to work when I got there). All of which is to say, I don’t feel like there’s been a lot of time to build much of a relationship with the town itself.
I am trying to find my way around, but I have to use sat nav to drive anywhere, including the supermarket. There are no longer Tesco Expresses and mini Waitroses on every corner. I am trying to retain a healthy, pedestrian lifestyle and resist the urge to jump into the car at every opportunity, but we live at the top of a big hill and Andy is pleading with me to give in to the constraints of my current elephantine proportions. I had a day off this week and made it to the cinema alone (joy!) but had to consult google to work out how to find my way from the car park to the screen. I had failed to notice that they were next door to one another.
The logistics are overwhelming, and we are battling with the seemingly endless list of tiny domestic dramas that need to be set right. On good days we remember that this house is a spectacular and beautiful gift and that so much has gone smoothly. On less good days our ineptitude at DIY seems like a cruel joke.
But what is already amazing is the welcome we have received. So many people have stopped by to help unpack, or assemble flat pack furniture, or bring provisions. We’ve been to a birthday party and a Christmas fair, we’ve been round for family tea and over for coffee, there have been playdates and poker parties (that last bit is all Andy). Yesterday I even thought it would be a good idea to invite another nearly-two year old over to make gingerbread men (which, frankly, was insanely optimistic). In those sociable moments it feels like the easiest and happiest of moves, and in the scheme of things, that matters more than the bewildering logistics of a new place.
We even have our first real, family Christmas tree and have rounded up enough decorations to make it look festive, although crawling underneath it to reach the light switch is more than I can manage. Also, Jesse demands that all decorations be hung at the top of the tree, so it’s a little odd looking. We are hosting Christmas this year, mainly due to my size, and are already looking forward to having grandparents around for the whole holiday season – both for the sheer delight it will bring Jesse, and the incredible help it will be to me (and us). I could almost cry with gratitude already.
Thanks for all the encouragement and love and prayers along the way. A new chapter is beginning and we feel very grateful (if also freaking terrified about next year).by