And remember how I wasn’t really concerned because DD wasn’t anywhere near the point of being ready to live with me? So much so, that when I brought it up in a fit of annoyance of the inconvenience of our living situation, saying it’d be so much more convenient to just live together; he took the opportunity to have a mild freak-out detailing over and over that he was NOT ready for that?
That was just a mere two months ago.
And it all changed this weekend.
While at brunch on Sunday, after quite a lovely evening at Town Tavern, which I’ve already waxed (un)poetically about, the subject of living together came up. I have no idea how, I couldn’t recreate the conversation for you if I spent two hours trying, but it boils down to him now being open to the idea. In fact, if I’m remembering correctly, he brought it up.
But he has a caveat: he’s still not ready for an engagement or marriage. He realizes this means that in reality, we can’t live together just yet thanks to my mom’s ultimatum. I appreciate him respecting my relationship with my family, and being equally smart about not rushing to kick future financial help to the curb.
It leaves me a little sad, though. Because I’d really like to live with him. I’d see him more. I’d have someone else to cook for and buy groceries for. It has to be easier to cook for two than for one. There’d be someone to split bills with. To cuddle up with on a cold night. I’d get to stop packing bags and planning logistics for spending time together. In the words of my boss: Our underwear could live together.
And that would be so freakin’ awesome. And convenient.
I could decide that I don’t care about my relationship with my family, or the financial support it provides, and dive in. But, thanks to mom’s old school ways, I’ve been forced to take a step back and be more thoughtful in my decision. And you know what? She’s right. It’s hard to eek those words out, but it’s true.
Why in the hell would I combine my life with someone who isn’t sure where this is going? Sure, he knows it’s going somewhere, but right now, it’s a 60/40 chance we’ll walk down the aisle. The odds increase every day and I’m pretty confident we’ll get there someday, but until I’m 100% confident, why take the chance? Living together would mean finding a new place for both of us to live and combining some assets. It would mean making decisions about stuff and furniture (because we both have apartments full of it) and storing or selling things off. Why would I do that unless I knew for sure this was going to last? I know for some people it works, but after thinking about it, it really is a chance I’m not prepared to take.
Don’t get me wrong; three months ago, I thought my mother was crazy and old-fashioned. Who cared if the chances were 60/40 we’d work out? I felt confident it would happen, and whether that was in a year or 10 years, who cared?
Then, my friend and her boyfriend broke up. They’d been dating for probably 5 years and living together for 2 or 3. I would have put their chances of getting married at 90/10.
But it ended. And it was ugly. It was basically a divorce without the paperwork. They had to split stuff up, including custody of a dog. She had to say goodbye to his child from a previous relationship. She had to find a place to live in a matter of days. Not to mention dealing with the emotional baggage of losing a love.
Now, she’s on my mom’s side. Telling me that it was a huge mistake and she did it for the wrong reasons — like convenience. That pesky convenience that I long for. But, just like my mom, she’s right.
So, as much as I want to just chuck it all and move in with the man I love, I’m painfully exercising my self-control and refraining. Holding my ground and telling him that I need more of a commitment than just an “I Love You.” Luckily, he gets it so there’s no pressure to cave.
Instead, there’s just a blue overnight bag and an endless logistical plan.