This was me last night, yes wonderful as he is Mr B has one major flaw…he snores, not a little bit, not when he has a cold, not when he lies on his back but all the time, constantly and loudly, you can be sitting on the couch speaking to him and suddenly the snore starts (I have that effect sometimes). At an early stage in the relationship I actually thought it was going to be a deal breaker but as time has gone on I think I have become somewhat immune, unless like last night I have not managed to get to sleep before him, then not even my industrial earplugs can help me.
Joking aside learning to live with a new partner has been a steep learning curve for both of us. At the age of 22 I moved straight from my parents home to my first house with my husband to be at the time and so it was not for another 11 years at the ripe old age of 33 when he moved out that I ever experienced living alone.
I was frightened at the prospect as well as being a bit of an emotional wreck at the time (but that is another very long story), but like parents everywhere do I held it together for the kids. It was strange being the only responsible adult (I use that term loosely) in the household.
I did what any girl in the circumstances would do, redecorated my bedroom in shades of pink and purple with lots of candles and satin, had lots of friends round and begged my lovely next door neighbour to take over the gardening. All good? Not really, at the end of the day I was lonely when the kids went to bed and worse when they went to their dad’s at alternate weekends, I think I cried solidly for 48 hours the first time. I was scared of all the responsibility, running a household, working, caring for my kids and trying to be the best mum I could was no easy task and I’m pretty sure I failed miserably at times.
Gradually though things changed and I really did learn to love being Queen of the House, I loved the feeling when the kids were tucked up in bed for the night, the door was locked and we were safe and snug in our little home. I liked lying on the couch in the evening browsing the internet with mindless “Motorway Cop” or “Bake Off” programmes burbling away in the background. I loved that me and the kids could laugh, sing and race around the house without having to worry about annoying anyone.
It took a good few years to get there but I was happy on my own… and then I met Mr B. He wasn’t the first man I’d dated since the divorce, Plenty of Fish and match.com had been introduced to my life with various amounts of success, but it was clear from the offset that this was going to be different.
No it wasn’t love at first sight nor were we instant soul mates but it was different from the rest and it was pretty clear this was going to be long term, when a man brings you chocolates on your first date, flowers on your second and a freshly caught fish on your third it’s meant to be. I only recently confessed I had no idea what to do with a freshly caught trout and after months of leaving it in the freezer I threw it in the food recycling (it’s ok though he confessed it wasn’t actually him that caught it).
So fast forward 10 months and Mr B was moving in!!! Fast I know but circumstances around his house meant he had to move and it didn’t seem to make sense for him to get a new place when by now it was clear this was long term, the kids loved him and so it appeared did I.
Then the fun began, his furniture arrived and was promptly relegated to the garage, his clothes arrived and we discovered we didn’t have as much storage as we would like. His wooden ornaments arrived and my minimalist home soon got a whole lot busier.
If living on your own takes some getting used to, living with someone else again takes a whole lot more. The tv remote was no longer my own, my cupboards where filled with strange condiments, what even is piccalilli? But more worryingly my cupboards and drawers were completely rearranged, Mr B is a bit of an everything in it’s place (or should I say where he thinks it’s place should be) kind of guy, so for weeks I would be at a crucial part of making dinner and have to call him frustrated because I had no idea where my baster/scissors/potato peeler etc were.
There was more than a few tears (me) and silent broodings (him) and the horrible doubt about whether we had done the right thing, thankfully almost one year down the line we are still here, we have both learned the need to talk and to compromise (get me Ms Relationship Guidance), and it works, I love the new foods in the cupboard I would never think to buy, and the fact that he never thinks twice about watching the kids while I pop out and he loves the fact that the cleaning fairy, collects his dirty t-shirts from the bedroom floor and delivers them back cleanly laundered to his drawer (in the new massive chest of drawers we had to buy).
I miss having the remote to myself and have watched more end of the world disaster films than I care to recall, but on the whole I’m happy to be sharing my sofa and my life again, can someone now just tell me how to stop the snoring?