Our new home

No, we haven't moved, but our house became a home when we brought new life into it.

I was thinking about the winter months when Ryker was a newborn and how cozy it was to just lay on the couch with the curtains closed and the lamp on and the quiet of the three of us just together. And then I was looking around and took notice of the ways our house has become a home.

It's the orange something crusted to the fridge door and the food chunks on the bathtub floor. It's the dog hair, the dirty washcloths across the basement stairs on their way to the wash and the pile of stuff on the other set of stairs on its way up. It's the filthy highchair in the corner of the dining room and the little moccasins on the dining room table. It's the monitor on the kitchen window sill and the dish rack filled with bottle and sippy cup pieces and teething toys. It's the jumperoo in the corner of my office and the baby gate to the living room with all of it's plugged outlets and latched cupboards. It's the chewed books on the shelf and the hard cheerios in the rug and the dried milk on the hardwood. It's the toys and the toys and the toys. It's the spare room occupied by a used crib and used bedding and lived in by a perfect little body breathing softly asleep in it.  It's the fingerprints and the love.
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