One Wrong Move

Before our children were born, our one-bedroom condo was a perfectly cozy third floor walk-up in the heart of Brooklyn. But as our family doubled in size, our kids’ toys demanded most of our precious square footage, and the three flights of stairs to our front door became almost unbearable with a double stroller. We got creative—including using our master bathroom as a place to stash our newborn son at nap time. But we soon realized that we needed to hit the market in search of a more family-friendly space.

After months of looking at apartments with bedrooms smaller than the trunk of our car, we found a spacious two-bedroom with the perfect mix of vintage charm and modern upgrades. It even included a private veranda—a coveted amenity. But we had no idea that underneath all of the charm was a tiny problem. No sooner than we’d moved in and assembled the last of our IKEA furniture did we discover that bedbugs had invaded our dream home. The exterminator told me that ours was the worst cases he’d seen in his 15-year career.

Getting out of this mess was no small feat. Before we could leave, we had to launder and pack all of our belongings (for the second time in a month) to ensure that none of the little pests would sneak out with us. I squeezed in precious packing time while my kids slept, meaning I barely slept at all.

Yet, while my husband and I were consumed with the stress of getting out of our lease, not to mention looking for movers and hotel rooms in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, our kids were taking it all in stride. Our two-year-old could not have been happier eating pizza in the hotel we finally found and staying up way too late. She jumped for joy at the idea of being able to snuggle in bed with Daddy—who took time off to help with the move—rather than wave a gloomy goodbye as he left for work. Meanwhile, my seven-month-old son slept through the entire thing.

Moving twice in one month with two little kids felt like carrying a fifty-pound boulder through a pile of quicksand. But this experience taught me that no amount of planning can prepare you for life’s little twists and turns. In the end, my children showed me that home is really wherever we are together.

After all of the packing, itching and stressing, we ended up right back in our tiny old apartment which, thankfully, remained un-rented.  It’s the place my husband and I got engaged, the place we brought our daughter home from the hospital, the place our son was born, and the place we’ll continue to call home—at least until our kids are old enough to pack their own things!