This is interesting. Weird. Lovely. Scary. Exactly what I've craved.
This living together, with my kids, in this house. Waking up every day next to each other. We hadn't done that except on trips. Now knowing that we will be seeing each other in all our glory and gory for as long as we can stand it. Excuse me while I clean out my eye-boogers before he wakes up.
I still have so much doubt that I'll live up to certain expectations, my own mainly. That, though I've managed to portray myself exactly as I am, I still won't be good enough. Because I really wasn't good enough before. Not according to some others' standards. Some insecurities are best left to children. But aren't we all just a bit child-like? No matter what anyone says, if you don't have SOME kind of doubts about yourself, or question your own motives and worry about what others think, then you're an egotistical douchebag.
During my move into his house this weekend, I was overwhelmed. And more than a bit grumpy on a number of occasions from the sheer stress of it all. I tend to be shorter tempered than most when tired but kept myself under control. Then he'd crack a joke, I'd laugh or merely smirk at the absurdity and keep going. My mom was stunned at how neither of us snapped at each other and we just seemed happy instead of strained. Our house is a mess, boxes everywhere; I have no idea where anything is. Each box seems to have a surprise in it. And that bothers me. The clutter is causing me to have OCD and I may become a crack fiend to calm my nerves. I still have work to accomplish for clients and way too much to pack before we go on vacation tomorrow. IF I can find where I put our clothes and camping gear.
It's a lot to absorb for all of us. So much change. So little time to adjust.
He'll have to get use to me laughing a bit too loud and finding my hairballs laying around, to being a stickler for manners and having a clutter free house. And to get use to having children in his house again.
I'll have to get use to him being a procrastinator and paper hoarder, to having a penchant for riling my kids up before bedtime, and the weird sleeping positions he has that look entirely too uncomfortable.
We'll both adjust to the eccentricities of our mothers, bless them both. To our siblings and their opinionated thoughts on our living situation and the ways of our relationship.
A family isn't perfect. We will never profess to be so. That frailty and fallibility is the most beautiful part of being human. Neither of us is perfect and I wouldn't have it any other way.