I don’t normally keep track of this sort of thing, but New York City and I celebrated our six month anniversary on Friday.

I was taking my lunch break from work, and I was thinking about how my birthday’s in two weeks, and this is well past the time of year when I usually start rounding up my age — not like I’ve had a problem rounding up how long I’ve been in New York — and then I realized it has been exactly six months. I arrived on February 14, and technically it wasn’t my first date with New York, but it was romantic for us, and six months later, I’m very happy we’re still together.

I’ll admit it, the honeymoon period is over. I have my days when I wish it would clean up after itself, when I just want it to be quiet and not interrupt me, when I wonder why even with all the extra “activity” in my life I’m not dropping a dress size.

And I know what you’re thinking, and yes, there were some times early on when I still thought about other cities. But especially with a new apartment and a new job, I think it’s fair to say that the city and I have gotten quite serious, and we’re making it work. I’ve hung photographs of other cities in the apartment, but at the end of the day, it’s the only city I look at out my window, it’s the only address on my New Yorker subscription, it’s the only place I’m calling home.

What I love most about the relationship is how easy it is when it’s just the two of us. I always look forward to going out with others, and I never have to be alone if I don’t want to. But when it’s just me and New York, and anything can happen, the best things do.