Ours

I just wanted to apologize for the long absence and assure you the 30 (Non-Consecutive) Day Song Challenge will recommence soon! Tyler and I were in the process of moving in to Our! First! Place! And if you've ever moved in your life, you know what a huge pain in the ass that can be.

But the hard part is over! We are now settled in and making this three bedroom, two bath townhouse ours. Ours. I love writing that. In this post, I want to share my feelings on living with someone because I haven't always been keen on the idea. In fact, I basically rejected the idea until Tyler.

As an only child, I had my own room from age 0 to 18. It was pure bliss. Everything was mine. Every dresser drawer: mine. All the closet space: mine. The floor in which to pile my dirty clothes on: mine. If I wanted to sleep with the door shut or with the radio on or stay up reading until 3:00 a.m., that was my prerogative. It was my room and mine alone. Sure, I had my share of sleepovers growing up, which required me to share my things and space. Sharing is a hard concept for the only child. It feels like some kind of ritual from another country just because it is an occasional occurrence rather than a daily necessity like for those who have siblings. But yes, we can do it if need be, but what keeps us going is knowing that toy or room will be all ours again.

Then came college. Freshmen were required to live on campus with a roommate. You could pay extra to get your own room, but I felt too guilty (and spoiled) to ask for that. So for the first time in my life, I had to share my living, studying, and sleeping space with another person for nine solid months. To up the ante, my roommate was also an only child.

It worked out though. We became friends and got along. There were minimal arguments about dirty dishes (her) and wanting the door closed (me). But it wasn't going to be forever. That kept me going. For the rest of college, I was fortunate enough to have my own private sleeping space. And the year after when I shared an apartment with two friends, I had my own bedroom again. A hiccup came when I moved back into my parents' house. Due to my mother's illness, she had taken my old bedroom. I was relegated to the very open basement while I tried to find a job so I could finally be an adult living on my own.

After many long months without my own room to lock myself in, I found a job. And although it perhaps wasn't the wisest financial decision, I opted to get a place of my own rather than split the rent and utilities with a couple of random college girls. I was done sharing. I was ready to stand on my own and live on my own. I LOVED IT. Everything was mine again! The kitchen: mine! The bathroom: mine! The floor in which to pile my dirty clothes on: mine!

Okay. You might be thinking most people reach a point in their life where having a roommate seems juvenile. A gaggle of female roommates is one thing, a boyfriend/fiancé/husband/partner is quite another. True. Very true. When it's a boyfriend/fiancé/husband/partner there's even more sharing involved a.k.a. the bedroom, bedroom closet, and bed. At that point in my life, I was not romantically optimistic. The idea of ever being in a relationship steady enough or strong enough to involve living together seemed like a distant dream. I decided I didn't want that anyway. Why would I ever consider shacking up or marriage? Marriage means--literally--sharing all your material possessions. I was no good at sharing, therefore I would be no good at marriage. Besides, it's the 21st century. Marriage is no longer a necessity for a woman's survival. I could live on my own, happily ever after.

But then I met Tyler. I will not say my idea of living with someone changed right then and there. I still liked having my own place even as my nights were spent there less and less frequently. We only lived five minutes apart. It's not like there were mountains to climb. But as our relationship became more and more serious, we wanted to spent more and more time together. As much time as possible, actually. If we weren't at work, we were together. I never thought I would ever want to spend that much time with another person, so no one was more surprised than me that I was giving up my precious "me-time". Tyler is just that wonderful.

By Christmas time last year, Tyler and I were practically living together. He got me a litter box for Milly to keep at his place, which sealed the deal. Milly would come over for sleepovers every now and then, but I didn't feel comfortable permanently moving her in. But since Tyler welcomed her, I had basically no reason to go "home". I was home wherever Tyler was.

My lease was going to be up in May, Tyler's in June. We decided to move in together because it was the practical thing to do (why pay two rents?) and because, more importantly, it was what our hearts wanted to do. We wanted to merge our lives. We made this decision before we got engaged, but I didn't tell my parents until after. I was struggling with how I was going to tell them that there their only daughter would be living in sin. However, they lived together when they were "only engaged", so they couldn't say shit. Ha!

I actually ended up getting out of my lease a month early. I officially moved in to Tyler's place at the end of April. We made a list of all the things we wanted: at least two bedrooms, two bathrooms, washer, dryer, and dishwasher. One frenzied  week (or was it just a weekend?) we looked for, found, applied for, and signed the lease on a townhouse built in 2014 a.k.a. a NEWER and NICER place than either of our old circa 1960s ones. Then the waiting game began. We would be living in Tyler's one bedroom bachelor pad for six weeks before we could get in to our new place.

For one thing, I'm really glad I moved in with Tyler rather than it working out the other way around. I would have had a much harder time having someone move in to a space that was once mine. Selfishly, it was much easier for me to take over his space. However, although I was, of course, invited and welcome at Tyler's place, it was still his technically. Long before he ever met me, he had decided which cabinet would hold the dinner plates, etc. I was anxious for when the concept of mine and his would disappear, when all those mundane decisions would be made together.

And we're here! Yay! Tyler and I have lived in our new place for almost two weeks now. I didn't have any "anxiety" over sleeping in a new, weird place. (Our brand new, awesome pillow top mattress didn't hurt.) It felt like home immediately. But like I said, anywhere Tyler is feels like home.