So I've done it, I've taken the plunge and I now live with a real-life boy. Yes, a real-life, breathing male.
There were a few moments of panic and worry, and quite a lot of nerves, in the weeks leading up to our moving date.
I quickly realised that he's going to see me at my absolute worst - first thing on a morning; last thing at night after a long day at work; with a hangover; with a stinking, snotty cold; straight out the shower with mascara pouring down my cheeks - there would be nowhere to hide!
We've learnt things about each other that we could never have known previously; we've discovered each other's bad habits; and we've found out that there will never be boundaries again when it comes to conversation topics at meal times (apparently it's ok to talk about faeces while I eat my weetabix at 8 o'clock in the morning)
Since moving in, there have been some emotional moments of panic - not least when I realised how many pairs of shoes and items of clothing I possess. Sharing a space with someone is all well and good until you realise that your 'share' is considerably larger than theirs.
A little tip for all of you panicking about where all your clothing is going to fit - unpack it all before he gets chance, that way he can only fit his stuff in the gaps. It's working a treat for me so far!
The only downside? I have no proper shoe storage space and my many, many, many pairs of shoes are now in the bottom of one of (our many) wardrobes. This would be fine if I didn't have a few trusty pairs of Primark/New Look pumps which, every girl will know, don't smell like roses after you've worn them a few times.
Yep, my worry about having nowhere to hide met me head-on just hours after I unloaded my shoes and laid them all out in the wardrobe when Tom opened it up and nearly knocked himself out. He trotted downstairs and sauntered into the kitchen where he said, cool as anything: "I think we need an air freshener for your shoes in that wardrobe."
We learnt that my feet stank very early on. The day after the air freshener remark, I was receiving a foot rub. Suddenly, the foot rubbing stopped - I looked at Tom and he was smelling his hands and pulling the sort of face you pull just before you're about to be sick.
Incase he didn't already know, my feet can sometimes smell.
There are a lot of emotional stages to moving in, and living, with a male - the worry, the panic, the stress, the anticipation, the excitement... And then, when you move in, there's even more excitement teamed with a lot more stress, anxiety, pressure, and more panic.
Everyone wants to come visit and be shown round; you don't want any mess left anywhere (to the extreme where even a solitary breadcrumb leftover on the kitchen worktop from making lunch makes you break out into a hot sweat until it is removed); and you perish the thought of someone walking around on your plush, fluffy, cream carpets without taking their shoes off first.
Surely I can't be the only person who gets freaked out by these tiny bits of mess and gets palpitations at the thoughts of the slightest of stains on my carpets?
Aside from the general housekeeping worries, and trying not to sound like I'm his mum nagging him to clean and keep tidy, moving in with a male is a complete eyeopener.
I have a brother so I am aware of how messy boys can be (hair gel all over the bathroom taps, the shaving aftermath left in the sink, dirty socks thrown around the room...) but I've learnt it's different without a parent there to clean it all up.
There's the odd pair of pants left on the bedroom floor but, other than that, so far things have managed to keep very tidy and organised and clean.
He's obsessed with our Henry the Hoover and will have it out the second he spots a crumb or piece of fluff (I'm hoping that isn't just a novelty and that it will continue).
He's also shown his cooking skills to be pretty on point. On one of our very first nights in our new home, I was treated to a meal totally from scratch. I was locked out of the kitchen until it was ready and, upon being summoned to the table, walked in the door to be greeted with a scene of sheer destruction. (I retract part of that previous paragraph about things being tidy/organised/clean)
There was onion and spinach choppings all over the worktops and floor; there were used bowls and empty packets littering the surfaces; mashed potato all over the floor and dripping down the washing machine; olive oil dripped across the worktops; peelings from potatoes all over the side; and all sorts of mess on the hob. The kitchen was like a sweatbox and Tom stood there looking like he had just come out of a bikram yoga session.
Just as I was about to have a Monica Geller-inspired meltdown I glanced across to the table and saw a beautiful meal on our cute little table - I'd even had a glass of wine poured and waiting for me.
It was at that point that I realised that with the bad also comes the good - you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.
And, in Tom's case, you can't make a delicious meal us both without trashing the kitchen in the process!
I've also realised, in the 11 days that we have officially been living together in our own home, that me and the Xbox aren't going to be enemies after all. I was worried that once the 32" television and the Xbox moved in, I'd be pushed to the side in favour of Fifa and Call of Duty and whatever other games he obsesses over. But, in fact, I am actually counting down the days until we have internet and he can get back to his virtual gaming world. That way, he will spend more time on it giving me more time to watch the soaps/trashy tv in peace (and will also give me some time to re-plump the cushions and clean up without him judging me!)
Surprisingly, all my preconceptions about moving in with a male have pretty much been quashed since we actually moved in together.
So far I think I have experienced more emotional stages because I've learnt things about myself rather than Tom -
Although, we have only been living together for 11 days so I am sure there is still plenty for me to learn about him. After all, they don't call it the honeymoon phase for no reason...
You may also like: 17 things you learn about yourself when you move out.
There were a few moments of panic and worry, and quite a lot of nerves, in the weeks leading up to our moving date.
I quickly realised that he's going to see me at my absolute worst - first thing on a morning; last thing at night after a long day at work; with a hangover; with a stinking, snotty cold; straight out the shower with mascara pouring down my cheeks - there would be nowhere to hide!
We've learnt things about each other that we could never have known previously; we've discovered each other's bad habits; and we've found out that there will never be boundaries again when it comes to conversation topics at meal times (apparently it's ok to talk about faeces while I eat my weetabix at 8 o'clock in the morning)
Since moving in, there have been some emotional moments of panic - not least when I realised how many pairs of shoes and items of clothing I possess. Sharing a space with someone is all well and good until you realise that your 'share' is considerably larger than theirs.
A little tip for all of you panicking about where all your clothing is going to fit - unpack it all before he gets chance, that way he can only fit his stuff in the gaps. It's working a treat for me so far!
The only downside? I have no proper shoe storage space and my many, many, many pairs of shoes are now in the bottom of one of (our many) wardrobes. This would be fine if I didn't have a few trusty pairs of Primark/New Look pumps which, every girl will know, don't smell like roses after you've worn them a few times.
Yep, my worry about having nowhere to hide met me head-on just hours after I unloaded my shoes and laid them all out in the wardrobe when Tom opened it up and nearly knocked himself out. He trotted downstairs and sauntered into the kitchen where he said, cool as anything: "I think we need an air freshener for your shoes in that wardrobe."
We learnt that my feet stank very early on. The day after the air freshener remark, I was receiving a foot rub. Suddenly, the foot rubbing stopped - I looked at Tom and he was smelling his hands and pulling the sort of face you pull just before you're about to be sick.
Incase he didn't already know, my feet can sometimes smell.
There are a lot of emotional stages to moving in, and living, with a male - the worry, the panic, the stress, the anticipation, the excitement... And then, when you move in, there's even more excitement teamed with a lot more stress, anxiety, pressure, and more panic.
Everyone wants to come visit and be shown round; you don't want any mess left anywhere (to the extreme where even a solitary breadcrumb leftover on the kitchen worktop from making lunch makes you break out into a hot sweat until it is removed); and you perish the thought of someone walking around on your plush, fluffy, cream carpets without taking their shoes off first.
Surely I can't be the only person who gets freaked out by these tiny bits of mess and gets palpitations at the thoughts of the slightest of stains on my carpets?
Aside from the general housekeeping worries, and trying not to sound like I'm his mum nagging him to clean and keep tidy, moving in with a male is a complete eyeopener.
I have a brother so I am aware of how messy boys can be (hair gel all over the bathroom taps, the shaving aftermath left in the sink, dirty socks thrown around the room...) but I've learnt it's different without a parent there to clean it all up.
There's the odd pair of pants left on the bedroom floor but, other than that, so far things have managed to keep very tidy and organised and clean.
He's obsessed with our Henry the Hoover and will have it out the second he spots a crumb or piece of fluff (I'm hoping that isn't just a novelty and that it will continue).
He's also shown his cooking skills to be pretty on point. On one of our very first nights in our new home, I was treated to a meal totally from scratch. I was locked out of the kitchen until it was ready and, upon being summoned to the table, walked in the door to be greeted with a scene of sheer destruction. (I retract part of that previous paragraph about things being tidy/organised/clean)
There was onion and spinach choppings all over the worktops and floor; there were used bowls and empty packets littering the surfaces; mashed potato all over the floor and dripping down the washing machine; olive oil dripped across the worktops; peelings from potatoes all over the side; and all sorts of mess on the hob. The kitchen was like a sweatbox and Tom stood there looking like he had just come out of a bikram yoga session.
Just as I was about to have a Monica Geller-inspired meltdown I glanced across to the table and saw a beautiful meal on our cute little table - I'd even had a glass of wine poured and waiting for me.
It was at that point that I realised that with the bad also comes the good - you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.
And, in Tom's case, you can't make a delicious meal us both without trashing the kitchen in the process!
I've also realised, in the 11 days that we have officially been living together in our own home, that me and the Xbox aren't going to be enemies after all. I was worried that once the 32" television and the Xbox moved in, I'd be pushed to the side in favour of Fifa and Call of Duty and whatever other games he obsesses over. But, in fact, I am actually counting down the days until we have internet and he can get back to his virtual gaming world. That way, he will spend more time on it giving me more time to watch the soaps/trashy tv in peace (and will also give me some time to re-plump the cushions and clean up without him judging me!)
Surprisingly, all my preconceptions about moving in with a male have pretty much been quashed since we actually moved in together.
So far I think I have experienced more emotional stages because I've learnt things about myself rather than Tom -
- I am seriously OCD when it comes to cleaning, the organising of the cushions on the sofa and the bed, the layout of the candles on the cabinet, the positioning of the chopping board in relation to the hob, and so much more..
- My shoes smell (and so do my feet)
- I can be distracted from mess for short period by a good meal and a glass of wine
- I am excited to welcome the Xbox into our lives
I've always known deep down that I have been like Monica Geller's soul sister but since flying the nest and moving in with the other half this has been consolidated.
The emotional stages of moving in with a boy definitely lead you to learning more about yourself and your bad habits, flaws and, in my case, super-organised/OCD nature than you have time to learn about your significant other.
Although, we have only been living together for 11 days so I am sure there is still plenty for me to learn about him. After all, they don't call it the honeymoon phase for no reason...
You may also like: 17 things you learn about yourself when you move out.
