It feels cliché to say I've found my groove, the ridges of my soul fitting smoothly into drawers here. Open and close. A familiarity while everything is still shiny and new. Best of both worlds? Or just happy in the world I'm in? But it's not like I'm not expecting the drop-off, it's terrifying that I sense the darkness just waiting to pummel me when I'm good and comfortable. There's a slight dullness to my euphoria here as I anticipate the edge to wear off. I look to Jeff and he says we're good and for once I'm going to have faith that it will be all right if I run trustingly into the sun.
I've been worried, almost sick, about one unaccounted-for box. It had Ivy's first dress in it, and I had carefully packed and marked so that I could find it quickly after the move. But it's alluded me these past two weeks and sometimes I can't fall asleep at night because of it. I had always imagined that when Ivy got her pink room we'd hang it on a pretty hook on her wall. When we picked out the paint color -a story of its own, to come- I had already packed away the dress.
This morning as we primped the house and put away the last of the boxes in preparation for my Mom and Mommal to arrive, I found the box and tore it open to find the dress. I ran upstairs to see, oh please let it be the right pink and it was. It is.