We did it. We got a minivan.
Well, we’re in the process of getting it. I mean, we have it, but it’s not technically ours yet, since financing is still in process and paperwork hasn’t been signed, but still. We got one.
I have been fighting it for a while now. Deep down, though, I knew I’d have to give in eventually. I have a husband, three kids, and a mortgage. I have a Costco membership, for heaven’s sake. I should totally have a minivan too. It fits.
And it really is better for our family. We had long outgrown my old car; in comparison this one feels like it has an INSANE amount of space inside. The girls get a huge kick out of the automatic sliding doors and rear AC. I get a huge kick out of not having to wrestle everyone into carseats crammed like sardines one bench seat. We have been talking about taking a longish road trip, and now we’ve got a vehicle we feel comfortable doing that with.
But still. It’s not the same.
You see, this was my view for almost a full decade.
And I miss it already.
That car drove me to and from David’s house at all hours when we were dating. (If I timed the song and the lights just right, I could make it before “Transatlanticism” ended.) It took me from the last apartment I lived in as a single woman to the home I’d share with my husband for the first five years of our marriage. I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed while driving it to a pre-dawn work shift. We sped in it to the hospital while I breathed through labor contractions for the first time, and drove much more slowly and carefully two days later to bring our first baby to her first home. I learned how to juggle one, then two, then three babies and all their accoutrements in it.
That car saw me laugh so hard I cried and cry so hard I couldn’t breathe and breathe so deeply I thought I might explode. It saw dates, diaper changes, swimming lessons, road trips, carsickness, and late night drives. It took me and my little family over a hundred thousand miles of desert and mountain, forest and shoreline, dirt roads and freeways.
I lived a lot of life with my little car. Shoot, I ran that thing into the ground! I know it’s time to move on and that it’s just a car and usually I’m not sentimental about these kinds of things.
But I kind of feel like I’m leaving a part of myself behind and driving away in some random soccer mom’s vehicle. It’s unsettling.
I’ll get used to it. We will get used to each other. Just give us some time and plenty of shenanigans.
And in another ten years and a hundred thousand miles, who knows?