As I observe progress on our townhouse the impending move is beginning to seem more real. I've started purging, organizing, and making purchases (shower curtain, hooks, rod, etc.) for soon-to-be-occupied rooms that lack basic necessities. The more I look at videos and pictures of my future house, the more I emotionally detach from my current domicile. Yet, my future house is still not complete and having not slept underneath it's roof or broken in the oven with a good batch of cupcakes, it does not feel altogether mine yet. So, while I have a current and future residence, I find myself feeling just a little homeless. Emotionally. Sentimentally.
A couple of weeks ago my mother went back to the Midwest for a work conference. While she was there she was able to visit her family in Southern Illinois. Hearing about her experiences visiting graveyards, being trapped at the grocery store while tornadoes threatened outside, and being caught in a Midwest torrential downpour that makes Utah's storms laughable has me feeling rather homesick for the place of my childhood. I often see pictures of my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandmothers, and feel so isolated from their world by this Rocky Mountain divide. I yearn to go back. Perhaps being on the cusps of delivery (13 days till my due date) my pregnant instinct is to return to the place of my birth where I found so much joy and comfort, hoping to pass on such pleasantries to my son. Or maybe it's just because I feel homeless.