Two years. Two incredible years of our lives we've spent living in an apartment in Aachen, Germany. When we first moved here, I cried. Alot. I sat in the bathroom floor and bawled my eyes out. I had left almost everything behind to come to a place where I knew no one, had no job, and didn't speak the language. I was five months pregnant, and I missed my dog. Writing it now makes me chuckle, but the struggle was very real at the time.
Here, I grew a child inside of me. Raised a tiny infant into a rambunctious toddler. Endured sweltering heat at 7 months pregnant with no air conditioner in a top floor flat. Where Miles learned to crawl. To walk. To run. Where he first said mama and dada. Where he had his first taste of solid food and learned to eat with utensils.
Learned (a very little bit of) a new language. Stepped way (way, way) outside my comfort zone. Traveled to so many new places - by plane, by train, by automobile. Spent Christmas Eve looking at the Mona Lisa in Paris and cooked pasta in Florence for my 30th birthday and reenacted scenes from The Sound of Music in Salzburg with a lifelong friend. Cruised the canals of Amsterdam and ate pintxos in San Sebastian and took a selfie with Big Ben in London.
Daily walks in the park, stopping to watch the ducks and laying out a blanket in the grass listening to the monotonous sound of the fountain as the water rises and falls. Gelato on hot days and picking up flowers for our dining table at the weekly farmer's markets. Walking everywhere. The store. Dinner. I usually get in a car once a month. Late spring - when we open the windows and let the fresh air sweep over us as we listen to the chorus of birds. The month of December - when our little piece of Germany becomes a magical Christmas village filled with craft vendors and mulled wine.
There are many things I won't miss about Germany: the lack of Mexican food and air conditioning topping the list. But damn, if you haven't been good to us. It's not goodbye, but see you later. Until next time.