11:53 am. Boule & Cherie on Amsterdam. Because I was too late to join the other table hoggers with their coffees and laptops at Shakespeare & Co. To avoid embarrassment, I spent 15 minutes reading a book in the Food and Drink section, which I now think I want to buy. It was a book about a woman who baked amazing cakes and took those cakes to bars as a way to meet a new boyfriend. Honestly, genius. WISH I had thought of that several years back. Not for the boyfriend, but for the book deal.
I’m minutes away from what will be my new home when I move in with C in a few months. I’m snarfing down a turkey and cheese croissant, and thinking about the impending move. I’ve never lived with a romantic partner before. I thought I would be more apprehensive about the changes to my routine and my independence, but I’m more apprehensive about how all the crap I’ve accumulated over 8 years is realistically going to fit.
I happened upon the idea of renting a small storage place after consulting some friends at work. This has reinvigorated me to cull my clothes and pack up the things I want to keep but don’t need immediate access to. I just need two of those big U-Haul boxes with the built-in hanging rail and my clutter problem is going to get a lot better.
I took a pair of trousers to get tailored yesterday near my soon-to-be-apartment. When the gentleman at the counter asked for the address for the account, I had to turn to C because I don’t know the new address off by heart yet. I will have to get used to that.
When I was younger I thought moving in together meant getting a house together, because that’s what my parents did. My mum owned her own home, and after they’d been dating for years, she said to my dad, “Are we going to make a go of this and move in together or what?” My mum is my inspiration.
For us, I think it happened more naturally. At least it feels natural. He’s lived alone for 3 years, while I’ve lived with a friend for those same 3 years. We’ve been in a relationship for 2, which feels like a solid amount of time to pass before taking the moving-in plunge.
When I was younger, I imagined moving in with my boyfriend would involve carrying boxes back and forth a huge house with a porch, assembling furniture, and flicking paint at each other. But alas, it’s a rented apartment so we likely won’t be doing any painting. Carrying boxes is definitely on the agenda, though not over a grand porch.
The back and forth between apartments can be exhausting. Sleeping over at each other’s places created a number of problems I didn’t anticipate. First, I basically stopped doing grocery runs. When you’re only home every other day of the week or away for 3 days at a time, it doesn’t make sense to stock up on fresh produce as it’ll go bad before you can eat it. Neither of you can plan a week’s worth of food.
You also never have everything you need with you. Planning 2 or 3 days of outfits and taking into account possible weather changes is tricky. This includes shoes and outerwear and makeup and hair styling tools and laptops if you’re going to work at the office the next day. You’re always in a state of packing and unpacking. You’re not home to consistently do laundry and dusting and all the home maintenance tasks you have.
I’m looking forward to having one home base again where all my stuff lives. I wouldn’t change the routine I have with my boyfriend for a second, but it has significant drawbacks. Being unable to maintain my home’s tidiness and cleanliness is hard, as the state of my home has a huge impact on my mood and mental well-being.
I’m self-aware that I have a few difficulties with sharing my space. It’s probably only-child syndrome. When I put something down, I want it to be there when I go to pick it back up. I always hated it when my mum would tidy my room and then I wouldn’t know where anything was. I like things to be tidy and clean but I don’t want to be militant about it. My mum successfully instilled a dislike of leaving clothes all over the floor. She unsuccessfully instilled in me a proactive approach to dusting. I will endeavor to do better about that.
Speaking of my mum, I have a fear that when C and I live together, I’m going to act like a mother. Not my mother, just a mother. I sometimes resent that I fall into a more nurturing, domestic role around C. I don’t like that I ask him permission to do certain things or tack an “if it’s okay with you” on to the end of my sentences, as though I have an intention of behaving differently if it’s not okay with him.
It’s true that I cook more because I’m more confident with it. I have a better eye for decor. A college friend once joked that I’d be a perfect housewife, and I agreed with her. Taking care of a home is an important pursuit, but I don’t want to behave like it’s my sole responsibility.
I want to prioritize sleep and getting an early start on the day. That’s something C and I are going to have to work on. He’s way more of a night owl than me, and I’m way more of an early bird so it’s not the most compatible combo. The balance shifts more towards staying up late and sleeping in than it does the other way, but I think we just need a healthy dose of discipline.
C also gets way more hangry than I ever will. I can go a long time without food without my mood changing. C’s energy and patience plummet when he hasn’t eaten properly. The energy level of the hours between 11 am-1 pm hinges solely on our food plans.
I wonder how it’ll change our relationship dynamic. Maybe nothing will change. Perhaps we’ll start arguing about new things we hadn’t before. Maybe we’ll both become incredibly fit and healthy with all the nutritious at-home meals we make. Maybe our sex life will be utterly transformed and I can kick my libido rut. Who knows? It’s such a leap of faith.
I want to cherish these last few months that I have in my apartment and neighborhood. Moving on will be bittersweet, but I’m excited for this next chapter of my life and my relationship.
