There's no place like home.

I really didn't move around very much as a kid. My folks were living in an apartment when I was born and moved into a house when I was around 2 or 3. We stayed in that house until my baby bro was born and then moved about two miles down the road to a larger home when he was about 2 or 3. For the most part, I lived in that last house until I got married at age 24. I did have two sabbaticals. The first came when I called my dad a dictator and moved out to my granny's. I lived with her about a year and then moved back home to start afresh with my family and work things out. Things didn't stay fresh very long and when they soured, I moved back in with my granny.
When I lived with at my granny's house I shared a small bedroom with my cousin. I stayed on the top bunk and had one plastic tote for clothes, two drawers for my things, and a desk for books, papers, and pictures. There were six of us living in a small three bedroom house with one bathroom, but we were all so happy.
At my parents house I had my own room, access to two bathrooms, and lots of space to move around. Most of the time I stayed in the room with my bro, camped out on a mattress on his floor. It was easier to be in their house if you surrounded yourself with others.
When I got married, the first apartment we lived in had one bedroom, one bath, a small closet kitchen, living room, and an office/dinning room space. It was by far, one of my most favorite places and remains to this day, my most comfy home (second only I guess to my granny's space). We didn't have much furniture or things, just our books, papasan chairs, and lots of book shelves. There were lots of windows that made it drafty in the winter, but it also provided the ideal place to sit and just people watch. We lived on the third floor and we sat on the corner of a really busy intersection. Across the street was a playground and soccer field. I loved it. The action in the summer nights of the lights being on over at the park and people playing sports in the evening, the steady ebb and flow of cars and lights. It was in that apartment that I found out I was preggers with babe.
We moved when I was about 4 months preggers to a larger apartment around the corner. Same complex, but a larger space and it was on the first floor. That apartment was horrible. From the beginning there were problems, backed up pipes, people starting fires in the laundry room (which was housed in the basement of the building), strangers wandering in and out of the building, vacant apartments that drew unsavory creatures, gas leaks, and the final straw was that the floor in the living room crumbled to pieces when a pipe burst and caused water and goo to leak down to the subflooring.
We moved in with my parents, babe, DH and I and waited for the house we'd gotten in the county to be fixed so that we could move in.
So thats where I'm at now. But I'm wondering why I still haven't felt settled in just yet. Certainly, we are unpacked, cook good meals, enjoy our books, and more importantly our babe! But for some reason I'm still not feeling like its home. Now don't get me wrong, after a long day of work I am ready to come back and take a shower, unwind and get to bed, wanting to recharge. But its not the same as when I lived in that first apartment.
Haven't quite figured out what's missing just yet. Perhaps it is something I've lost or not yet unpacked along the way.