We moved into our house on a Saturday in March. I was five and a half months pregnant with my first child. The day after we moved in, there was a massive snowstorm, and we gathered at my grandparents' house as my grandfather passed away. On the day of his wake, my husband came down with the stomach flu, and with the funeral, Keith being sick, then a week later, my pregnant self getting the same illness, our house did not unpack itself. It wasn't the most joyous occasion, as I had previously dreamed it would be. Owning our own home, bringing a baby into the world - I assumed happiness, but received sadness, sickness, and a house full of boxes instead.
Fast forward a few weeks. The snow melted, the heartache subsided (some), and we were healthy again, with a little baby boy reminding me daily with his kicks that he was doing well.
I looked outside on spring morning and saw this:
We had picked a house with a magnolia bush.
Now, if you know me at all, you know my love for New Orleans.
And the fact that I have a tattoo of a magnolia flower on my back.
Every spring, I look forward to seeing my bush bloom.
Spring makes me happy, but magnolias make me happier.