{Relationship Stories} Making Adjustments

Me: Wanna know the difference between me and you? I came home, picked August up from daycare, stopped at the store to pick up more garbage bags and paper towels before coming home, came home, made dinner the kids, did August’s laundry, folded them, put them away, fed August, gave him a bathe, and got him ready for bed, read with Aiden, and hung up the pictures in the living room. You came home from work and watched TV on the bed while eating chips. You only went to the store after I asked you to buy a new pacifier for August. I’m tired too. You could have helped me with something. 

HEB: Or… you could have asked me to help. 

Me (In my head): This !@#$ing a—hole! Did he really just say that to me? What the entire f@#k?! 

Me (out loud): Or… you could have gotten off your ass and actually helped me?

HEB and I officially moved in together a few months ago after unofficially living together for the past few years. As in, both of our names are on the lease. As in, “oh crap! It just got real.” As in, he can’t go home when he needs time to himself and I can’t ask him to go home when I need space. As in, we’re in the same space. All. The Time. 24 hours a day. 7 days a week.

Needless to say, we’ve been making adjustments. I’ve been making adjustments. Not only on the space itself by getting my Fixer-Upper-meets-Property-Brothers-meets-House-Hunters-Renovations on (check out my upgrades to the boys’ bedroom and stay tuned for more updates!), but also on myself. And my expectations for what it means to live with another adult. Again.

It’s been… interesting.

Right in the thick of love
At times we get sick of love…

Here’s the thing: it’s not all cuddles on the couch while watching Love Jones and creating our own love jones story. It’s not all family game night and everyone playing nicely and eating ice cream and popcorn from the same container. It’s not all peaches and cream. (What up, 112?)

It’s messy. And sloppy.

Literally. Because he's really sloppy and he doesn’t clean up after himself. Still.

It’s going back and forth about who is more tired and who is going to go over the boys’ room in the middle of the night when August wakes up crying. It’s figuring out the division of labor and making sure that it’s “fair.”

It’s him drinking out of the juice bottle instead of pouring the damn thing in a glass and me getting upset about it. Again.

Another again.

It’s him telling me that I’m upset over one “little” thing and me explaining that I’m actually annoyed over 15 different little things that actually adds up to one big thing.

Again.

It’s not talking to each other or not listening to each other or not talking to each other in a way that the other person will understand it and receive it. It’s figuring out communication styles and then coming back to the drawing board because we just gotta get this thing right.

It’s… hard.

I know I misbehaved and you made your mistakes
And we both still got room left to grow…

It’s passionate arguments and going to our separate corners and coming back to the drawing board. Again.

Another again.

It’s happiness and frustration. And intimacy and loneliness. And pettiness and growth. Lots of personal growth. It’s… making adjustments.

And you know what? Sometimes it is peaches and cream and hugs and snuggles and speaking each other’s love language.

And that makes it all worth it.