(I think I should preface this post by stating that I started my period yeseterday. Yuck. I hadn’t had one for over 19 months and all of a sudden…. I am a woman again… emotional and all.)
Home is such a weird word. What does it really mean? Is it really “where the heart is” or is it something else?
When I lived in Paris I would refer to home as my apartment or back in the states with family. Now that I am in the states, I am missing my home in Paris I am not only referring to my little apartment (although I do think that is part of it), but more to the streets I would walk everyday on my way to meet a friend or get a baguette or buy groceries. I am referring to the walking down the metro steps to catch a metro to go to the other side of the city.
Home is also sitting at Place Verte with Justin and drinking an iced tea or getting their salad buffet (which is a zillion times better than an American buffet salad!!!!!!). Home is just spending amazing time (almost too much time) with Justin and Maisie…going for walks and exploring new parks in the city. Home is a banana nutella crepe with sprinkled coconut. Home is also avoiding dog poop on the sidewalk. Home is pretty fountains hiding in little crevices of the city. Home is shoving people out of your way to make it onto the metro before the doors close. Home is little old ladies smiling at Maisie or telling me what I am doing wrong in a language I cannot understand. Home is walking all the time…rain or shine or snow or whatever else the weather may bring! Home is where Maisie spent the first 9 months of her life. Home is where she was born. Home is where we brought her to sleep the first time in her own bed (or shall I say in our bed…oops). Home is where we made amazing friendships that will last a lifetime. Right now, home feels like Paris and I miss it so much it hurts.