(Edit: Wiktory! New desk! Successfully moved old desk! Etc.!)
We have added usable space to the house in greater (and prettier and more comfortable) square footage than our first apartment. Not all of that space is ready to use yet, but still, it's an odd feeling, because it's still the same house, and yet it substantially isn't. We haven't had to pack up the kitchen and wonder whether we'll get around to unpacking the wardrobe boxes before we run out of clothes in a suitcase, so it's not like moving, and yet there's the "we need to buy another trash can--we'll have to remember to bring another box of tissues down next time we go--where should we hang this?--which bits of that get cold enough that we'll want an afghan?--how do we handle this other thing?--what can we do without disturbing someone if they're sleeping in their room?" that sounds just like moving. And there's terminology that will have to shift--not only are "timprov's room" and "timprov's bathroom" completely different places than they used to be, "the downstairs bathroom" no longer works now that the main floor is not, in fact, "the downstairs."
And the thing about a major physical upheaval like this--even or perhaps especially a positive one--is that I am finding myself looking at other things as well, deciding that it's time to clean out my office closet or scrub the steps to the hot tub or choose a hallway paint color or make sure I have all the titles of my elisem jewelry typed into a file. (Yes, I know. There's just no way to make that last one about house stuff. Except it is, because it's about my sense of order and inflicting the said order on my surroundings.) Projects beget projects. Oof.