One wintry morning, after yet another big snowfall, I got stuck in my driveway as I was pulling out to go to the train station. I realized how close-knit the people here were, what camaraderie there was among residents and what kind-hearted neighbors we had. Our charming old house began to feel more and more like home. As we settled in, I grew attached to our quaint new community, cute town and my suburban mom life. Totally out of place.īut slowly, something pretty miraculous happened. What had I done? Had I just made the biggest mistake of my life? I felt like City Mouse trading places with her Country Mouse cousin. Yes, it sounds obvious-why hadn't I thought of it earlier? But the reality of the suburbs was totally different from the romantic idea of it all.Įven calling my old city pediatrician, whom I loved, to tell her we were switching to someone local was traumatic. ![]() I had to get in the car to go anywhere-the drugstore, the doctor’s office, the supermarket, the dry cleaner-whereas before it had all been within walking distance. And they don’t even let you smile for the photo here! What kind of place was this, anyway? There was such a finality to that, a feeling that I was stuck and never going back to my “real” home. I fought back tears again when my husband ushered me to the local DMV to get my New Jersey license and give up my New York one. The first week, I got lost driving the kids somewhere and silently wept (hopefully without them noticing), longing to be back in Manhattan. Or, at least, that’s how it seemed initially. ![]() The time right around the holidays was always so vibrant and bustling in New York. It was so different from where we’d been. And we were lucky to see even one other child there in those early months. Our house was right next to a big, beautiful park and within walking distance of the playground, but it wasn’t nearly as close as it had been in our old neighborhood. ![]() Instead, it was cold and gray, and so deserted and quiet. Gone were the leafy green trees lining the streets, the lush lawns, the children playing outside, the feel of vacation in the air that were there when we were house hunting. But it was late fall, just before Thanksgiving, when we officially moved in. And that’s when the magnitude of what we’d done really hit me.ĭon’t get me wrong. But around the time I went back to work, we moved into our new life in our new state. I had him at the same New York hospital where I gave birth to his sister, and spent maternity leave home with both of them in our same NYC apartment. Our doormen gushed over my daughter and we had no fewer than five spectacular playgrounds, always full of children, near our apartment.īuying a house and moving to the New Jersey suburbs a few months after baby number two arrived was a necessity-for space reasons alone-but a lot harder than I imagined. We walked or rode the subway to doctor's appointments, playdates and daycare, and took trips with her to the Met, Lincoln Center and Central Park. I ran errands with my tiny daughter in the stroller (which, like the strollers of many NYC parents, sat in the living room when it wasn’t in use). As a new mom, I got out of the house every day with baby in tow, which was wonderful. ![]() I loved our apartment, neighborhood and lifestyle. By the time I had my first baby on the Upper East Side, I’d been living in “The City” for more than a decade. Though I was raised a suburban girl, I spent most of my adult life living in cities. I went to college in Philadelphia, then graduate school in New York. And to say the transition was bumpy would be a bit of an understatement. But this was a little like Extreme Makeover … without the dramatic “ big reveal” at the end. My transformation was from City Mom to Suburban Mom. No, not the usual kind involving expensive surgery and stretched skin (give me time). A little over a year ago, I got a facelift.
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