When Jason and I first walked into what was to be our first home together, I don't think we ever imagined the true stress of moving house. Everyone says the it's the second most stressful thing you go through in life (which, by the 17th time you've heard that, becomes very true) and it is true.
But, when everything comes together, and you're settling down for a cup of tea, snuggled into your favourite blanket, it hits you that this is home now. Home. It isn't a house on a website, it isn't a building being checked for mould, it isn't an empty shell with magnolia walls and no furniture - it's home. Through paperwork and delivery delays, arguments over flooring and building furniture, it has finally become home.
Let's rewind 6 months. When the sale for the house went through Jason was working a lot, so I was happy to set up what we had. I spent most of my days in a internet-less house, with nothing to sit on and most shockingly, no kettle. You take away the possibility of a cup of tea and you'll find yourself a Brit in despair. But I was so excited at what this place was to become that I didn't care about the chill of the floor, the bare walls and the abundance of spiders. This, to me, was a blank canvas. I made it a mission to make the kitchen my masterpiece - I ordered a kettle (of course), a toaster, cutlery, plates, glasses, pots, pans... anything to make it liveable. To cook our first meal (scrambled eggs made in the microwave, sat on the empty living room floor) and to give us that little bit of comfort while we waited for furniture.
Slowly, furniture began to arrive. I built what I could, tearing open duvet sets and cushion covers with wild abandon, desperate for somewhere soft to place my booty. And every day, we saw a change. The kitchen had large, grey stoneware mugs to fill with tea, from a kettle that was ours, with soya milk from our fridge. The dining room had place mats and coasters, where we could eat together. The living room had our beautiful sofa, claimed by the dog almost instantly, and was covered in cushions and heavy knit blankets. Our desks had lamps and fake cacti and our laptops. Our bed, built by these tiny little hands, was covered in cushions and a Groupon bought mattress which Jason still complains about (£50, eh, who can complain at that?!).
And it was only a few days ago that I reached for one of those mugs and realised that everything we needed was finally here. We didn't need to borrow a tea bag from a neighbour, or rush to the shop for the milk we didn't have yet, we didn't need to sit on floors and watch Netflix on our phones to fill the empty silence.
This was finally home, because it had everything in it, including us.
