I have been with my boyfriend just over a year. We got together and made it ‘official’ in March 2015. In August of the same year, due to various family situations, we found ourselves moving in together – it was fast. We had technically only been together for 5 months, ideally we wouldn’t have even mentioned it for the next 6. It was the most logical ending, even if it was a somewhat scary one. We discussed it, in length, and we believed in our relationship, that although it was a lot earlier than either of us would’ve liked, we took the plunge.
We’ve been in our little house for nearly 8 months now, we’ve had highs and lows aplenty in those months and now we find ourselves ready to celebrate a year together.
It was a culture shock, living a lot more independently than I am used too. I come from a household with a doting mother, she did a lot for me, more than I like to admit as a 23 year old. I should’ve done more, and now I do lot more. I, however, enjoyed the challenge, my first real grown adult step in life. I rent – I live with a boy! (I know, I know).
Living with a boy is strange to begin with. Living with a person you’ve never lived with before is weird. You come from completely different households that do small things different ways. I come from a household go wash tabs, he from cap in the washing machine. I come from a household that ate cheese (a lot of), he hates cheese, can’t even stand the smell. I come from a household filled with veggies, he doesn’t like those either. It’s a lot of learning and a lot of compromise.
I don’t like gammon, he loves gammon, we buy it bi monthly. He doesn’t like veggies, I love me some veggies, I buy frozen bags so I can have a side portions.
I am terrified of spiders – he gets rid of them.
We balance each other in a lot of ways – I like to do the washing up and the clothes washing – he’ll scrub that oven until it gleams, same with the bath and that nasty bit of mould crawling in from the window. We take turns cooking, take turns doing the food shop, take turns vacuuming. Once you find a balance it easily settles into a routine of sorts.
We annoy each other – of course we do! Neither of us have lived with a partner before, sheesh, neither of us had spent more than a few days with each other consecutively, and now here we are, seeing and interacting every day! He will almost always, leave his towel on the floor. EVERY DAMN TIME. It’s not even that big a deal, and it frustrates me to no end. I can guarantee I annoy him in certain little ways too! But we moan to each other, we have a joke that we sound like an old married couple – he’ll remember to pick the towel up for a week, then forget again. It’s not going to change and I’ve accepted that I’ll probably be picking the towel up for the foreseeable future. In the grand scheme of things – I’m okay with that. He’s accepted that I’m going to fill the house with as many books as I possibly can – it’s compromise.
It’s a strange and sometimes hard adjustment, I not being used to constant interaction, go quiet and into myself, and he believes something has upset me. It’s cute but this is just the time I would be in my room having some ‘me’ time. Now, he knows what this is and we both understand the importance of me time. Times to ourselves, it’s a necessity.
Sure, from time to time I’ll miss the simplicity of living with my parents – less rent, instant food, far less housework. I miss my dog more than words can comprehend, my little bundle of constant affection that could brighten any day. But, I wouldn’t go back now, I don’t think I could. I enjoy my ‘own’ place. I like being able to make it myself; I recently bought a bookcase and I made and decorated it myself. I have come to understand the term ‘house proud’.
I made a big step – one I do not regret. I get to wake up to my lovely boyfriend every morning (usually annoyed cause he’s a outrageous bed hog), but it’s a really nice way to wake up.
I’m going to stop now, because I’m getting soppy and no-one wants that.