Primer went up in the Boy's room this morning. Not over the whole thing, just over the bits that will no longer be green.
It's fairly surreal to be repainting that room and realizing that we've been in this house long enough to have built up memories and make it our own. Five years ago I was coming over to an empty house to paint on the rare nights my husband was home and could hang out with the baby. The original paint was chosen as a way to darken the room for the day sleeper, but not make it oppressively dark for the night sleeper.
This morning I painted over scars left by the crib rubbing on the low, slanted wall. And I remembered the year the wee girlie slept in that corner of the room...her sleep sounds keeping me company on the long nights I was the only parent home.
Soon I'll start on the mural in the girl's room. A room originally painted for a baby boy. A boy we just assumed would be our one and only child. And who would stay in that room until the day we moved out. I remember the day we set the room up. I sat in the rocking chair, taking it all in and cried. After all of the heartache, sitting in my son's freshly painted nursery was overwhelming. In the not-so-distant future, it'll be transformed into a girl's room--and not just any girl. A girl who adores princesses and all things twirly and girly. A girl who fills this house with laughter and sunshine.
Our own bedroom was once the office and our office was once the room my parents' lived in for the times they were here. And it's starting to feel like everything is in its rightful place.
It's fascinating to me to look back and see the gradual settling of this former nomad. Even the ghosts and spirits have appeared to settle down and accept that we're here for a while longer.