So I am already a little bored with this series. I'm no longer interested in writing about the differences I see in my children. In fact, I kind feel like I am looking for differences to write about and I don't like it when things start to feel forced.

I am interested in sharing stories about pregnancy and birth so that's probably where this Tuesday thing is headed. However, those stories seem to take a lot more time and effort. They're lengthy stories and, of course, I want them to be funny, which takes a little bit more thought...

Anyway, one thing I've particularly enjoyed about composing pregnancy stories so far is the opportunity to look through old photos. And since I started looking through old photos, I find myself returning to photos of our apartment in Portland, where we first found out we were expecting twins. It was just 600 square feet!

Stephen visited Portland a few weeks before we moved there and signed a one year rental agreement. I wasn't initially thrilled with his choice. It was small. It was on a busy street. And it was on the ground floor. Really, I was just scared to be there alone in a big, new city. But looking back it was a cozy little home for the five short months we lived there. It was filled with all the things we loved and only the things we needed most.

And had there been just one baby, we probably would have stayed in Portland to grow our little family in that home (you should really click that link).

 

So we were promised the apartment on June 1st but it wasn't ready because of some late renovations. After three days of waiting, I finally offered to finish cleaning the place myself. Big mistake. It was filthy and disgusting. For instance, all these white bathroom tiles were gray. The medicine cabinet was missing the shelves so I built some out of cardboard. The vanity drawers didn't open. When the landlord was finally able to pry them open (months after we moved in), I found the medicine cabinet shelves hidden in one of the drawers!

 

The kitchen was by far my favorite space in the apartment (my least favorite was the tiny bedroom, just in case you were wondering). I scrubbed the holy hell out of that refrigerator. The base of of the fridge was covered in what appeared to be dried blood, hopefully from a steak or something. But I loved that fridge and those photos plastered to the side there. I would stare at them endlessly. Look closely old friends and you might see yourself!



So that's our Portland home and the pictures I keep returning to. I think I can put them away now. But it's lovely, isn't it? You'd like to spend an evening there sitting on our front steps, right? Speaking of our front steps, we were in Portland exactly three summers ago and Stephen insisted that we stop by the apartment to photograph the boys on the steps. At their first home. 'Cause you know, those babies were made in Oregon, although probably not under a sea of fireworks!



Aren't they precious! Also, if you didn't click that link earlier, here is a second chance. It's my new favorite song for the week. I listened to it on repeat as I typed this last night. Ho Hey!!