Living with a boy: (almost) six months on

White longline shirt: H&M (similar)
Pink blazer: ASOS (similar)
Blue denim skinny jeans: George at ASDA (similar)
Silver pointed loafers: Next (similar)

It's been nearly six months since I took the plunge and moved out of my parents home and into a house with my boyfriend. Honestly? I was dreading it a bit and I wasn't quite ready to leave home. I wasn't ready to take on the responsibly and cried in the first few weeks every time I went back to my parents.

Living with someone else is hard. We've bickered about who cleans the bathroom, gone to bed angry after falling out over a stain on the sofa and got far too angry with each other over how we both choose to stack the dishwasher. We have credit card debt more than out house deposit thanks to buying a doer-upper and money has been the tightest it has ever been. Our bathroom currently looks like squatters have been residing in it for months and we have a massive hole in the plaster by the front door. Looking back I think we bought a house together with rose-tinted glasses on and didn't quite realise just how bloody difficult it would be.

Despite having been going out with each other for a decade, we learnt so much more about each other during these last six months then we have in ten years. He annoys me when he puts the glasses in the cupboard and doesn't shut the door. His laid back nature now frustrates me when he doesn't spend the whole weekend doing jobs around the house and instead chooses to 'chill out'. I've been asking to have my fireplace tiled since January... Sometimes when I'm in bed and hear him playing Call of Duty downstairs, I want to march downstairs and throw things at him. I hear that theme tune in my head.

Equally I annoy him when I take to the kitchen and use every single pan in the house. When he braves it and wanders in, he's greeted with flour on the cabinets, oil all over the cooker and chocolate on the tiles. I think he's struggling to cope with my floordrobe all over my side of the bed. In fact I know he's struggling with all my messy ways. I seem to be allergic to putting things away until it becomes an absolute joke.

Yet despite all that, its been the best decision I've ever made. I've stopped calling my parents house 'home' and when I visit over the weekend, after a few hours I'm itching to come back to my house. My own home where I can get my PJs on, leave my shoes on the stairs without being told off and raid the fridge to eat whatever I want without permission.  It's funny how sometimes I can barely remember life without living with Connor. It feels like we've always co-exisiting together in this little house. As I sit on the tube on my commute home, I feel excited when I'm two stops from home as I know I'm going to see my very own house. I relish sitting down for dinner, chatting for a while about our day and then going about our business - him on his xbox and me on my laptop. I feel so content and happy knowing he is there in the house even if we sit in different rooms or barely talk for hours.

Turns out living with a boy is pretty good indeed.

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