I moved back with my mom at 37. Dating someone who also lived with his mom was awkward at first.

• After living in Germany for 11 years, I decided to move back to Buffalo and look for a job. 
• While I resettled my life, I figured it'd be better to live with my mom. I moved back in at age 37.
• I started dating someone who also lived with his mom, so I had to talk to my own mom about it. 

Following a transatlantic move from Germany back to my hometown of Buffalo, New York, I chose to live with my mother as a way to ground myself and take time off work without needing to get a job immediately. Also, I had lived abroad for 11 years and needed some time to orient myself back to America. My plan: no nine-to-five, no major travel, and no men.

And then, out of nowhere, a wonderful man suddenly appeared. 

We were both living with our moms

We met on Facebook, both 37 years old, with similar outlooks on life. We spent our first three dates in the city at restaurants, at an art-gallery party, and traversing the Elmwood Village streets. They were fantastic. We talked. We laughed nonstop. We kissed. Our chemistry was flaming hot. 

Between dates, we texted consistently, learning about each other. 

To say that we wanted some privacy would be an understatement. The problem was that we both lived with our mothers. And before we are both qualified as middle-aged losers, his situation was that he was divorced and dealing with the death of his father, which led him to move in to support his mother. On top of other commonalities, we both were resetting and reevaluating our lives. 

In terms of living arrangements, both of us had private areas of habitation, but mine didn't come without walking past my mother in the living room. At the same time, his apartment was still filled with the chaos of boxes and the remnants of a dissolving household.

But we pressed on. 

He started sleeping over at my mom's place

For our fourth date, I invited him to my house for a movie. My mother knew he would be coming over, and he greeted her kindly. She sized him up a bit as Fox News played on the television. It was a bit awkward, but we weren't teenagers — though it did feel like we were. He said meeting my mother so early on was fine, but I was unconvinced. How could it not be uncomfortable? Most people meet the parents after months of dating, and there we were on date four.

Cuddling on the couch after the movie, we started to kiss and then more. Moving to my bed, we spent time talking, making out, and fooling around, realizing at some point that it was too late for him to drive home — at least that's what we told ourselves.

Back in Germany, where I'd lived blissfully alone, I'd never had to consider any potential issues this decision could generate. 

Torn between our lust and the possible conversation this sleepover may elicit from my mother, we decided he would stay the night. 

In the morning, I kept thinking about our proverbial walk of shame downstairs past her as we left for brunch. But she was in the office, and we were able to squeeze out unseen. This seemed less awkward. But was it? Would she mention it when I returned home? Would she have questions? Would she give me a knowing look that said: "I know what you did upstairs?" 

The next two weekends, Justin stayed over again. We had sex very quietly. We walked past my mother after guiltily staying in bed for hours on Sunday while she was downstairs doing crossword puzzles. 

"We're going on a walk," I said quietly.

Looking over her glasses, she said, "OK, have fun." 

That's when I reluctantly decided I had to talk to my mother about the situation — that the story I was telling myself was much worse than the truth. 

"So… do you have any questions about Justin?" I asked one day after returning home from the gym.

In surprise, she peered up at me.

"I mean," I continued, rambling. "Is it OK that he comes over here? I don't want you to feel awkward. He… has a really good job, and he's kind and generous and pays for everything when we go out."

She blinked back. "Uh, it's fine. You guys are… quiet…"

"It's just," I paused for a beat. "We have so much fun together... and I'm really happy."

It hit me like a bag of bricks: After my major life change, a leap of faith, and months of questioning my decision, I was happy.

She smiled. "Oh, good!"

"So, it's OK that he comes over?"

"Yeah," she said and shrugged. "As long as he doesn't smoke upstairs."

I furrowed my brow. I assured her that he would not, and then we talked about my and Justin's Valentine's Day date at the North Park Theater and how we'd gotten Lloyd Taco Factory afterward and talked for hours.

In retrospect, I think she just wanted to be in the loop. Maybe all our parents want is to be more included in our lives. I had to realize that she was coming from a place of curiosity instead of judgement. I had unwittingly kept her out for a long time while abroad, living 4,000 miles away. I have to accept that we now have a new dynamic where I will keep her loosely informed, and where Justin will continue to sleep over.