Malone is reluctantly sharing

I feel like some sort of 1950’s housewife, constantly cooking different meals for everybody, a few times a day. I haven’t lived with a man since I’ve been a mum. Even with my child’s father we only lived together for four months before we split. Then previous to this, I don’t think I’ve lived with someone else since 1999! Now suddenly I’m living with someone and I’m sharing everything. I’m an only child. The only thing I’m good at sharing is anecdotes.

Sharing isn’t something I had to do growing up. But as an adult I’ve learnt to share cake, the TV and bottles of Vodka… Now I’m sharing a bed, money and ice cubes. The bed is the easiest thing to share – I’m complimented my partner must think I’m a size 00, as the duvet I’m left with hardly covers me. I want to buy a kingsize duvet. Do I discuss this purchase first? What’s the etiquette?

I’m going to start writing down all my in and outgoings. Or rather all ‘our’ outgoings. Just because I can, now I have space for a desk. See, I’m struggling to remember I’m in a team. Overnight, it’s all ‘us’ and ‘our’. My inner ‘me’ is screaming for attention. ‘What about meee?!” My boyfriend is very good at being in a team, he says things like “I might be a bit selfish and have a pasty for my lunch, okay?” Well it wouldn’t even cross my mind to ask if it was okay to not eat lunch together. I’d follow my stomach’s desires and then I’d say “Oh I ate lunch earlier”.

“It’s going to be a struggle to relinquish years of reign holding”

I’m just so used to doing everything on my own, it’s going to be a bit of a struggle to relinquish years of reign holding. I want to. I just need to take it slowly. I’m used to living with just a small child. This means if I need help with anything I used to have to call a friend or neighbour to help me, or usually and more often, just do whatever it was myself. Perhaps badly, but I’d do it; move a chest of drawers; fit a yale lock; choose insurance.

Now I’ve got the support I need as a mother and I’m finding it hard to know how to combine their input with mine. Apparently it’s not polite to try make the decision on every single thing. But I’m used to having to be a survivor, having to rely on my own decisions and trust that I know best. I think I’m improving. I didn’t tantrum when my partner wanted to choose our new cushion covers and place mats, I even said “I don’t mind, you choose”, then pointed at the 50’s style ones and shook my head at all the other ones he pointed at. My inner ‘only child’ lone parent and my outer 1950’s housewife are in inner turmoil.