Last December, amidst Andrew’s jerk of a roommate (I really need to blog that story!) and my roommate being a little less than clean, Andrew and I started discussing the possibility of moving in together.  We were spending upwards of 5 nights a week together as it was, half my stuff was at his house, and I was getting tired of leaving poor Harry cat alone.  It would be Andrew’s first time living with a girl, and obviously, it was a huge step to make for both of us.

We talked and talked and talked and talked, and finally decided that maybe we’d make the move in the summer.  A few weeks later, we started talking some more and decided to simply look at some places one rainy Saturday.

And…then we came home with a lease, and a move-in date.

Over the next four weeks, we packed up our stuff, made budgets, made lists, fought discussed everything under the sun and figured out the logistics of moving in to a whole new place.  There was a lot of work and sweat and tears and “stuff” to take care of.  Moving in with ANYONE is stressful, at least in my opinion, and when you add the romantic aspect in, it is even more significant.

Still, here we are 10 months later, and I think it remains one of the best choices I made this year.  Our apartment feels like home.  No, it’s not where I want to live forever, or my dream place.  Our house does not resemble Crate and Barrel, despite my fervent wishing that it would, but it is home.  It has a cozy couch where I can sit and blog and snuggle with Andrew and Harry, a bathtub where I can unwind after a busy day, my books and clothes and stuff.

But most of all, it has my favorite person.  No matter where I live or go with Andrew, it feels like home, the best place ever, simply because he’s there.

This post was written as part of Gwen Bell’s Best of ’09 Blog Challenge.

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