My Brooklyn baby has become a Columbus toddler. As of two days ago, she has officially lived in Ohio longer than New York.
I find this a little bittersweet, although putting into words the reason why is difficult. After all, she essentially became an Ohioan through and through the day we moved here in July. It could hardly be otherwise. She was only eight months old when we moved, so she was far too young to have any memories of actually living in New York. And with two Ohio natives as parents, she definitely has Buckeye blood.
Maybe it's because she had the potential to be a New Yorker. Growing up in the country, I always wanted to live in the big city. New York was my castle in the sky (the Baby-Sitters Club books set there were my favorites), but I wasn't picky -- Chicago would have done nicely, too! So maybe that's it -- Edith could have lived my dream.
I know, I know -- the last thing you're supposed to do as a parent is live through your child. But it's hard for me not to wonder if she'll one day regret leaving Brooklyn, if she'll wonder what might have been if we would have stayed.
Or maybe, as a city girl herself, cornfields and amber waves of grain will end up being more her speed, and her own dream will be to move to a farm. That would bring it full circle, wouldn't it?