Moved.

“It’s time.”

He was right. In so many ways.

The movers were done; it was about to rain. My son’s crib needed to be moved into his new room and put together ASAP. It was time to go.

“I just…” my voice trailed off. I looked around, helplessly.

We didn’t own it. But it was ours.

“Remember how relieved you were when you first saw this place?” he asked me.

I did. I just couldn’t get away from work in Chicago when we had to find an apartment in New York, so my husband came out and pounded the pavement. The agent took him all over downtown. When they finally walked into our place, my husband stepped in, looked around, and asked for a lease. I had left it in his hands and he had done me right.

The first time I saw it was the day we moved in. And sure, moving in had been ridiculous. God knows unpacking a Chicago 2BR’s worth of stuff into an NYC 1BR took forever.

But man: this awesome set of windows on the greatest neighborhood in Manhattan. And on Sundays, the soft sounds of the mariachi band that played outside of Los Dados, there on the corner.

The building had a breathtaking roof deck that was home to several of our infamous cocktail parties. We watched fireworks up there, and the aftermath of Captain Sully’s handiwork on the Hudson.

Yeah, the building was replete with characters, but I loved them all.

“It doesn’t feel right empty,” I said.

Probably because it wasn’t empty. I could see the faded areas on the paint where our furniture and pictures had been. I noted the vacant cabinets of the smallest kitchen ever to allow me to work my culinary madness. I traced my finger against the door molding. No, it wasn’t empty. It was so full of memories.

“Well. I won’t miss our neighbors,” he said.

“Good God. Neither will I,” I agreed. “And neither will Acey.”

Acey. I worked through hard labor with him right here on our couch before we left for the hospital. This was his first home. Our doorman met him before much of our family did. I paced up and down this one stretch of floorboards for hours trying to get him to sleep in the wee hours of the morning when he was brand new. He rolled over for the first time right there; that’s where he sat in his bouncy seat when he said “Da Da” for the first time.

When we discovered we were expecting, all of our New York friends would look at our apartment and say, “This place is huge! It’s plenty big enough for a baby!”

Those who lived outside of the City would gasp in horror: “You’re going to stay here when the baby comes?!”

But stay we did. We shifted our living room over, and created a Baby Den. Acey learned to sleep with the noise of the construction right outside his window.

“At least we got to be here for the High Line opening.”

We had a direct view of the hottest new park on the East Coast. Our windows faced its entrance. We watched the creation of the park, the construction of the new hotel that straddles it, the demolition of the old industrial meatpacking building that was adjacent to it. Now that all was said and done, we could see trees and flowers at eye level, twinkling at night with evening lights, on the elevated park. With the old building gone, we had river views. Hell, I even got to see people do unspeakable things in their hotel rooms when I was up doing 4am feedings for all those months.

“I will miss this. My heart hurts.”

“Our new place is awesome. It will be just as special. And it won't have mice.”

“I know. But…”

But…

I pushed Acey’s stroller as we left the apartment for the last time. I wasn’t just teary-eyed. I was crying. My face screwed up and my mouth turned down as the tears started to fall.

Acey had never seen me make such a face.

He laughed at me.

It made me smile.

“Yeah. It’s time to go.”