After falling in love with the most beautiful baby Morgan there ever was, we thought she should have a sister.
Or brother.
Didn't matter. A sibling.
(Can you blame me? Look at this cutie.)
In no time at all, we conceived again. And the moment of discovery was just as wonderful as the first time we found out we were pregnant.
Six weeks later, the little one left.
It's hard to put into words what a loss like that feels like, but to borrow a sentiment from the movie Spanglish: "I heard a crack in the universe."
The subsequent months were very confusing as we lost several more pregnancies.
My world of wanting to be a mother collided with my desire to renovate and decorate and redeem underloved places.
So Dan and I did what we knew we had to do: we put down our tool belts, packed away our paint brushes and set to work to find the answer to our fertility problems.
At this time, we had no reason to move from our two bedroom bungalow. It filled the needs of our little family.
But hope sometimes drives one to do impractical things.
We called our realtor and put the house on the market.
Our house sold relatively quickly. Our savvy realtor, who appears to be sweet as pumpkin pie (and is!) but is also just as shrewd, made sure that we made a fair profit.
And then we we were off to buy a house.
Here were our options:
1. Buy another affordable fixer-upper
2. Buy a house in move-in condition
We were about to undergo fertility treatments and needed our home to have peace.
Nailing walls into place does not bring peace into our house.
Nor does sanding floors, painting trim or replacing windows.
So in May of 2007 we moved to the land of cookie cutter houses and started a new journey.
