The first boyfriend I lived with, we lived together for a year before he moved all of his stuff in. When he did, it felt like an invasion. I'd painted the apartment, I'd decorated, I'd planned around what we already had. Suddenly we had all his furniture, his ugly couch he'd had since he was 19, his gigantic desk that didn't fit in the apartment. He wanted me to throw out the bed my dad had made me, and I couldn't say "but if we break up, I won't have a bed."
We did break up. I bought the bed from him.
The second boyfriend who moved in didn't have a lot of stuff. We shared a two bedroom and my stuff took over the apartment. When we broke up and I finally moved out of the apartment, the things I had were overwhelming. I worked tirelessly to get rid of stuff and was still only half packed when the moving van came. My life had filled up with half finished projects, paperwork I couldn't deal with, and things I'd held on to because I might one day need them.
So yesterday Johnny moved in and, wow, he had a lot of stuff. It took us seven hours and three trips to get everything moved. It was long and hard and a lot more stuff than either of us expected it to be. I definitely had to take some deep breaths when I saw ALL of his comic book boxes. But it only lasted a second. It didn't feel like an invasion, it felt like the apartment was becoming ours. And he started culling his comic book collection this morning. I started culling my clothes. We've both got a lot of stuff to deal with, but we're happy to do it together.
I know this post is pretty sappy, but I can't really help it. I'm really happy to be making a home with this man.