I was cleaning out my text message inbox the other day and came across a bunch of texts from January, from the beginning of relationship with Boyfriend. And all of a sudden my eyes started leaking.
What is it about that time frame?!
In many ways, the honeymoon period, as it’s often called, usually in reference to the first three months of a relationship, is horrid. The uncertainty, the uncomfortable clothes, the awkward placement of arms and/or mouth at the end of dates, the not knowing if it was in fact a date, the deep longing for a piece of bread-basket bread yet the self-denial out of fear of appearing piggish, the hours spent straightening hair because you know he’ll be disappointed if he finds out you have curls, frizzy curls, the pressure to do things together rather than just be together, the game of not being the first to suggest the next hanging out, the wondering if he/she is still dating other people…
But the honeymoon period is also delicious. You can’t stop smiling. You think about the other person. A lot. You see the other person. A lot. Till 5AM one day. Till 6AM the next day. On a school night. Your goodbyes start with a hug and “I’ll miss you,” and thirty minutes later you’re still standing in the middle of the room, clutching, and swaying, and not leaving. You are flawless. He/she is flawless. You never question his/her feelings for you because it’s diarrhea of the mouth with how wonderful you are and how appreciative he/she is to have you in his/her life. Friends are giddy to hear about and meet this shiny new object, so excited that they internet stalk, combing Facebook and blogs and websites. Fueled by deliriousness and happiness, you consistently work out and choose broccoli.
And then you stop making the bed when he/she comes over. You wear elastic waist-band pants. You inhale a mammoth 10PM two-scoops of ice cream. You fart. You talk about bowel movements and what iPhone apps you utilize during said bowel movements. You don’t say yes to every invitation extended. You act irrational. You choose other people over him/her. You cry. You make him/her cry. You pretzel on the couch and listen to impassioned tirades about entrepreneurship or football instead of lovey-dovey dinner at Nightwood. You see flaws. You have flaws. And the honeymoon period ends. And I miss it.
But yet, the next stage, whatever this is, well, it’s got its own niceties. I like that some of our nights are made up of mesh shorts and homemade chili and iTunes and off-brand Crystal Light. I like that one of us feels comfortable enough to fart in front of the other [the other would like to get there but is not yet there]. I like that we have ten billion shared Google Documents, from restaurants to try, to costs form our Europe trip this summer, to places to take his mom when she’s in town, to our current weights and minutes of exercise a day. He’s met the family, I’m about to meet the family. He’s seen my stretch marks [which in itself is not nice, but the fact that he still tells me I’m beautiful, that’s nice]. We’ve had tense moments and we dealt with the tense moments in a way that reassures me we can deal with stuff, whatever stuff. He said I love you. I said I love you. I have his key, he has my alarm code. He’s Cheeks and I’m Sweatshirt.
I can’t delete some of the texts from January. Or February. Or March.
Does wistful mean something’s wrong? I feel it implies a longing, a void, a sadness. Is it possible to be wistful, whilst happy? Because I am, and I am.
**Update** As I was penning this post, this text came in from Boyfriend: “Life with you is so much better than without you.” Or September.