I mentioned on my Weekly Small Pleasures post that last week marked the one-year milestone of The Boy and I living together officially (y’know, not counting that pre-living-together stage where you’re always at one or the other’s place anyway). We called it our Flataversary and got Chinese food takeaway to celebrate. It was lovely.
It got me thinking about the things that change during the first year of cohabitation. I only have this relationship to properly examine, but I’ll assume most are similar. Things (read: bodily functions and picking your nose, ew) you wouldn’t dare to do in front of your partner to spare crippling embarrassment become old news. Those little things you try and tone down your interest in for appearance sake are painfully revealed – I’m a complete sci-fi and Supernatural fan-girl and he’s got a never-grew-out-of-it thing for dinosaurs and Lego – and it turns out that, guess what, they don’t care.
As you start to live together I think the best way to put it is that you’re still on your best behaviour.
Being conscientious and tidying up after yourself everyday becomes leaving your dirty clothes around or not doing the washing up right away. No darling, you sit down and relax, I’ll take care of dinner becomes It’s your turn, I really can’t be arsed. No it’s your turn! Going out every week for dinner together becomes pizza and Mario Kart tournaments on the sofa.
I love it that way. Don’t get me wrong, I love that they-can-do-no-wrong, butterflies-every-day honeymood period thing, but it’s not a realistic portrayal of what will be your cohabitating life together. You’re going to fight, you’re going to have those days where for some reason you’re just rubbing each other the wrong way. You’re going to want your own space and not be stuck to your SO 24/7, and that’s okay. I like it better that way.
I like the comfort in knowing that I can be completely myself by now. Gone are the days of oh I just woke up like this, and with fresh minty breath too! And with them went my self-conciousness and paranoia that I’ll be dumped when he learns how waxy my ears are in the mornings.
I think there’s a certain freedom and security in being able to have a bad day and come home snappy and in a grump and not be worried about offending or upsetting The Boy. Because later, when I’ve had a bath and a cup of tea and relaxed, I’ll kiss him on the cheek and say sorry for being crap and he’ll wave it away. Because he has them too.
Things do change, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s for the better. I’m much happier knowing that he loves me, waxy ears and all.
…but I do wish he’d pick up his socks.
Do you find things changed after you’d started living with your partner? What’s the biggest example? Or is this just me?!