You may well wonder: Why are all four of you living in a tiny 4th floor walk-up? Well, thereby hangs a tale.When I met my husband, he was living in and renovating a half-finished apartment he owned in Chelsea. We must have been having too much fun together, because half-finished it remained, for many more years. Eventually, he moved to Philly for grad school and I tagged along. Our expert crew (the two of us, plus his amazing parents) finally managed to pull the place together. We always intended to leave Philly at the earliest opportunity, but the place kind of grows on you, so we kept renting out his apartment.
We liked Philly and we both had good jobs, and soon we had a baby, too. It looked like things couldn’t get any perfect-er. Then we were pregnant again! And it was in the hospital, after giving birth to our second son, that the story really begins.
My husband was actually supposed to go for a job interview in New York the day that Jamie was born. When I woke up to contractions, he decided to postpone. So the next day, the brand-new father of two left me in the hospital to interview. And he got the job. I was lying in the hospital bed holding a newborn when he told me. “Should we move back?” He asked, his voice full of hope. “Should we move to Chelsea?”
Now what I *should* have said was “Clearly you have been drinking too much Jameson. Now, what should we name this baby?” But somehow I got muddled and the baby was named after a fine whiskey and we packed up, left town and were ensconced in the Fun Apartment before he was three months old. And I was a stay-at-home mom with two boys on my hands.
And why do we call it the Fun Apartment? I guess you have to visit to find out.