How the hell did we get here?!

I moved to New York City, specifically to Park Slope Brooklyn, 10 years ago, and I did everything and anything I could to leave Brooklyn for Manhattan. Two years later I succeeded and swore I would never move back over the bridge to Brooklyn. It wasn’t that I disliked Brooklyn, but loved downtown Manhattan that much more. I loved being able to jump on the train and getting to anywhere I cared about in less than 20 minutes. I loved that I could walk to hundreds of bars, restaurants and shops. Back then, almost everyone I knew lived in Manhattan, and that’s the way I liked it.

I was a Manhattan girl through and through.

Back then it was the East Village. I had two apartments over the three years I lived in the East Village. Both were on the top floors of five-story walk ups. If you forgot something, forget it. You weren’t going to haul ass to the top floor just to pick up your wallet. Instead, a friend would cover you for the night until you could cover them. I was single, free and enamored with the city.

Then I met, moved in with and married my husband. That meant leaving my hipster lifestyle in the village for the cool, swank neighborhood of Tribeca. I had a hard time in Tribeca at first. It was quiet and ritzy; sometimes even snooty. But in the end, I grew to love its cobblestone streets, access to the Hudson River and amazing food and wine. We were living the New York dream in 800 square feet.

Then the unthinkable happened. My husband and I decided to have a baby.

You would think if I was in love enough with Manhattan that cramming the three of us, and my small business, into our 800 square foot one-bedroom would be no problem. You would think that sharing our bedroom with the baby and my overflowing desk would still be workable if loved being in Tribeca so much.

After one and a half years of living on top of each other, I had enough. It was a brutal decision for both my husband and me. We LOVED downtown Manhattan. We knew every square inch of our beautiful neighborhood and the surrounding areas. We were regulars are various restaurants and are daughter was beloved at them all. We had a daily routine of walking the streets, people watching and just enjoying downtown.

In a strange turn of events, the moment I was completely over being jammed into our place, good friends mentioned that the garden level apartment in their building in Park Slope would be coming available. It wasn’t on the market yet, maybe we could skip the broker’s fees and grab it. Hardy har har.

We looked at the place thinking we’d never like it, never like the neighborhood and we’d never leave Manhattan.  A month later, here we are. The lure of double the square footage, a beautiful backyard and proximity to Prospect Park was too much even for this true-blue Manhattan family. 10 years later I’m back where I started, in Park Slope.

Thus begins our two years in Brooklyn.