I really want to move in.
I’ve now been staying with my in-laws for over three months, firstly for the extra help during the wife’s early maternity period, and secondly to facilitate the transition between the previous and new apartment.
And there’s been really good things about staying with them which I fully appreciate.
The wife got the care she needed while recovering from childbirth and the very necessary support in taking care of the baby since we did not get a confinement lady.
The. Food. Is. So. Good. My mother-in-law really cooks up a storm practically on a daily basis and I’m eating better (probably too well for my waistline) than I normally would.
I don’t have to worry about the laundry or ironing or cleaning at all, which has never been my forte…
But I really do miss having my own place.
Home.
The place I can come back to from work, strip off all my work clothes and walk around in the nud...OK, maybe that was a bit too much info. But it used to be quite a symbolical act of my ‘winding down after work’ repertoire because the shackles and burdens of work would be thrown off…literally.
And there’s a special sense of contentment that comes when you stop at the front door of your home and before opening it, smell the bur…the wonderful aroma of your wife’s cooking and listen to the chime of the spatula on the wok.
I miss that part of home. Not so much the physical structure or location. Just the elements which will make it home for me.
My wife. My daughter. My space to wear my birthday suit. My wife’s cooking. The book rack next to the toilet bowl for uninterrupted reading. My squeak-free bedframe and mattress.
I wonder if I’ll be able to celebrate Christmas in my own, fully set up home.
It would be my ideal Christmas present.
In the meantime, I’m going to continue enjoying staying with my in-laws because missing home doesn’t mean that I don’t love the perks of staying there.
0 comments:
Post a Comment