Ctrl lock

If you know how to use a keyboard (as you are reading this I assume you do), you might have used the "Caps Lock" function at some point and maybe even the "Num Lock" function. But I give you the previously unheard of CONTROL LOCK function.

How does it work? Hm, let's say you are writing a posting. A very long posting. A very long posting that has not been saved for a while. You are doing your final proof-reading and want to add a single letter. You click on the space in the text where you want to enter it. The whole text gets marked. A new Firefox tab is opened. You try again, the result is the same. You panic. Less than one minute later you have more than 20 new empty tabs when suddenly the page you were working in reloads and goes blank. Everything you wrote is gone - you start to sweat. You click the "back" button. A new empty tab opens. Every time you try. You start to use foul language and close down the browser, then start it again. Only to realize that anything you do opens a new, empty tab. You go through the settings, one, two, fourteen times. You make some changes. More new, empty tabs are opened. Your language gets more explicit by the minute. More changes. More tabs. Then another browser restart. Certainly Google has the answer. But whatever you type: tabs. And pop-ups. The search bar appears, then the bookmarks are suddenly shown on the left-hand side. Your entire internet logs pop up. A thought starts to form in your head. Don't you usually have to press the Control key together with another key to access these elements? You did press some letter keys, but the Control key is not pressed in. You did not press it for sure. Is there such a thing as "Ctrl Lock"? You slowly approach the Control key with your finger and press down, expecting yet another new, empty tab. Instead everything works again like before. Except for all the settings you changed of course.

Both my husband and I have what I consider to be very decent computer skills. Neither of us has ever heard of or experienced anything like this before. I have discovered a new, if completely worthless function. If I had discovered a new, yet completely worthless animal I could at least name it after me...

A Christmas story

It was the time between Christmas and New Year. The whole family was gathered in the kitchen, Pontus contently playing on the floor while my husband I stood and talked quietly, lovingly looking into each others eyes the whole time. Soft music, delighted laughter and the smell of the delicious food in the oven filled the room. Suddenly we became aware of a movement outside the house. My husband, wearing a reindeer sweater I handknitted for him, carefully approached the window and looked out. There, sitting in the snow, were two people, huddled together to protect themselves against the icy cold, but still shivering. Their big, empty eyes looked at us from faces that were clearly marked by the hunger they were suffering. One of them was so lanky it seemed that he had gone without a proper meal for a very long time. My husband looked at me and we both knew in our hearts that we had to help those poor souls. My husband opened the door. The warm shine of light from the kitchen lamp touched their faces and they turned away, almost as if they were embarassed to be seen like this. My husband walked over and gently helped them up. It was only now that we saw that they also had a baby with them, a little boy with golden curls who looked just as malnourished as his father. We quickly led them into the house and sat them down at the table. My husband took the food from the oven and served them each a generous portion. They ate hungrily and in silence, their eyes gleaming with joy over the feast. We also gave them a sweet treat, something to drink and allowed them to rest on our couch, while Pontus played with their son. The little guy carefully touched all the toys, as if he had never seen anything like this in his life. After a while our guests insisted on moving on, thanking us over and over again for our generosity and hospitality. They carefully wrapped the child in blankets and disappeared into the night as we stood there at the door, feeling that our hearts had been touched in a very special way.
The end.

(That is how the story would be told if we were living in fairytale land, but the truth was of course a little more like this: We were making dinner while Pontus was running around and screaming because he was unhappy. He had been unhappy and very vocal about it all day, so we were counting down the minutes until bedtime. My husband told Muddiz's husband on MSN that we were about to eat and he mentioned that they were hungry as well, but had not cooked anything yet. We had enough food so we asked if they wanted to come over, which they did. We had made noodle gratin with spicy sausages and right away Muddiz's husband informed us that he never eats the noodles in the top layer of the gratin, because they are hard (he is a little older than the rest of us, you know, and he was taken care of by a childminder instead of going to Kindergarten). Pontus was not happy with the food either, so he screamed instead. Everyone else enjoyed the meal, but of course the obligatory 3 noodles and 1 slice of sausage were left in the dish (Swedes NEVER take the last bit of food, don't ask me why). We rounded off the meal with some leftover Christmas cookies and proceeded into the living room, where Muddiz and her husband collapsed on the couch. My husband immediately exploited their immobility and presented his latest technical gadget, while Pontus and Milton completely tore the room apart. At one point Milton tried to climb into one of our highchairs from below (through the opening for the leg, which is TINY) and got stuck halfways. While I looked on, equally amazed and fascinated, his parents seemed somewhat indifferent, like they had seen it before and then some. Or maybe they were just captivated by my husband's demonstration, because Muddiz's husband started to talk about also needing to buy that very device. The children were screaming, my husband was selling and I just "was". After a while the Muddiz clan got up, thanked us for dinner and left. We put Pontus to bed and with that another day was over.)

What would Caroline Ingalls do?

There it is: my approach to parenting in a nutshell (and with a question mark).

When Pontus is cranky, things aren't going well and I don't get anything done I do not check my parenting handbook. I simply close my eyes and ask myself "What would Caroline Ingalls do?". She did, after all, live out in the middle of nowhere (in a little house on the prairie you could say), raised several children, took care of the household, helped out on the field and took on extra work whenever necessary. Compared to that, how can I have trouble starting a machine of laundry and keeping my one child happy at the same time. It really puts things in perspective - you should all try it some time.
Caroline is there for you...

Restless hands

Comparing the first pregnancy and this one I seem to have a recurring problem that I like to call "restless hands syndrome". Well, it is not just my hands that are restless, but rather all of me. It is like a humming, a nervous vibration inside of me that makes it impossible to sleep. I don't know what is causing this feeling, but it really helps to actively do something when I get it, in a "If I can't fix the real problem because I can't identify it, why not use the restlessness it creates to fix something else instead" kind of way. Last night for example I took down all Christmas decorations and completely re-organized the boxes we store them in. My husband understands my problem so he doesn't say anything, but I am sure he would not have minded if Christmas hadn't been over so soon in our house.

Tonight I am keeping my hand busy by writing this posting, but what about tomorrow? I need something to do, something that I can (preferably) continue evening after evening, a simple, repetitive task that will give me peace of mind and maybe even a sense of accomplishment.
In short: I need to crochet mormorsrutor (literally translated: "Grandmother's squares")!



The mormorsrutor in this picture were made by Emma, who can crochet just about anything it seems. Think of her as the MacGyver of crochet. And then think of me as the Star Wars Kid of crochet. I have never worked with crochet in my life. I have no clue how to do it, I am not 100% certain what I need, but several internet tutorials have confidently assured me that every dimwit can learn how to crochet. Sounds like something for me!

I can make as many (or few) mormorsrutor as I want, put everything aside when I need to, and in the end I can use them to make a blanket. Or a blanket for a doll. Or a pot holder. Or a pot holder for a doll. It's all very flexible, you see. Now if I could only understand what they are doing there with the hook and the yarn...

Nathalie Choux

Pontus' room is finally coming together, the only thing that still needs to be improved are the very blank walls. After giving up on my initial plan to paint something myself (my Barbapapa looking like the severely traumatized victim of domestic violence, black eye and all) I surfed around for some nice artwork for children. Unfortunately a lot of what one comes across is so unbelieveably tacky and tasteless that it defies words. But then I found (and fell in love with) the pictures of Nathalie Choux, a French illustrator.



These are the 7 pictures I have ordered so far, but just the other day I saw 4 more that I feel I also just have to have.



I think they are so great - if Pontus ever grows tired of them I might well put them up in my room.

Merry Christmas!

And a good advice to all: don't let your mother-in-law catch you pulling a face when she unpacks fire-grilled, marinated eggplant she decided to contribute to the buffet as a surprise. Really, don't.

Corporate Santa

Muddiz got a gift basket with fine foods from her employer.
My husband got a high quality hoodie sweatshirt from his.
All I got from work was yet another incorrect lönespecification (payslip).
It seems like Corporate Santa really does check his list twice...

Recreation stress

Tomorrow Pontus will spend the day with his farmor (my husband's mother), so I can do whatever I want to. The problem is that I don't know what that would be. Usually we ship Pontus off to his grandparents when we have a lot of stuff to take care of that can be done easier and faster without him around, but tomorrow is just a normal weekday and my husband will be at work. It is too early to prepare the house for Christmas, there is no laundry that needs to be washed and with my luck it's probably "Sylvia Browne Wednesday" on "Montel" for the third time this week, completely killing any desire to watch tv before the day has even started. As far as going out is concerned I have already been downtown this week and don't enjoy crowds enough to want to go back anytime soon.
I know, it's a luxury problem. It just feels like I should really make the most of the day.

If there actually is such a thing as recreation stress, I have it. Help.

P.S.: No, I do not want to come and take care of your offspring instead. I am just desperate, not insane.

Depressive episode

I never had that conversation with my boss last week.

I had spent the whole week preparing and going over exactly what I was going to say in my head again and again and again, but then he was just too busy. Or didn't care. Maybe it wasn't about actually having that conversation at all, but just about scaring me and making me feel ill (which he succeeded with). I had a lousy, miserable week. It didn't help much that my union assured me that my boss' demeanour was, at best, dubious and unprofessional and that I didn't need to worry about his threats. Neither did it help that I got support from the colleagues I talked to. (I even received an email from one colleague who said that she also felt that the attitude towards her had changed after she had her baby. She referred to it as "becoming unpopular".)

So, with the union and my colleagues behind me I went to work and waited. And waited. And waited. When it got late in the afternoon and nothing had happened I started to relize that there might not be a meeting. The last half hour was probably the longest of my life. As soon as I could leave, I did. I heard my boss walking down the hallway behind me as I left, but I remembered something I learned from watching one too many prison shows: never look back!

He had his chances. I sat at my desk all day, he could have called or come over and told me to wait. He even could have shouted after me there in the hallway. I really did not feel it was my job to remind him and/or turn up voluntarily in order to ensure that he would not need to go home in the evening without having humiliated me (again).

Getting out of there and knowing that I wouldn't be back for several weeks was as great a feeling as you'd imagine. But when I got home and had the time to sit down, it really hit me. All of the stress of the last weeks, both physically and psychologically, just came crashing down on me. I only wanted to lie in bed, pull the blanket over my head and and cry until someone else had fixed my life. I did not want to be asked anything, I did not want to hear anything, I just wanted things to be over and taken care of, one way or the other.

Things are a little better by now, but I already dread the day I have to return to work. Every time I think about going back I get overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness, panic and nausea. If the reality of it should come anywhere close to my worst fears, I will go home and call in sick. Because that is what I feel.

Dotless

You might have noticed that the blog is looking surprisingly plain these days. The simple (and absolutely truthful) explanation is that the pink dots demanded more money and when I refused to pay they got up and left. The grey dots followed them as a sign of support (somewhat misguided, if you ask me). Well, I won't be blackmailed. And how smart was it to give up a secure, undemanding job right in the middle of a global crisis? Where else do you think you will find work that only requires you to pop up for two or three people every other week? There's plenty of dots out there that would LOVE to take your places. They are queuing outside as I'm speaking. Ha ha, in your tiny little faces!

(Having made my point: I am between servers, but there will be dots again soon.)

Work nightmare

My part-time return to work has been nothing short of a disaster and today it reached a new low. My boss called me into his office to discuss my work hours from February on and as I was already there he let me know that 2 people had complained about me being rude to them. He now wanted me to think about this for a week and then, at another meeting, present to him and our administrative supervisor in which way I intended to change my behaviour and how I would achieve that change. He really felt that this was important and if it "couldn't be solved to his liking" he would need to involve the union, the employer's association and a bunch of other people and then things would get really unpleasant. When I asked why the people I offended did not talk to me first (or why he did not suggest that) I was told that they were (probably) afraid of me.

I was stunned. Honestly stunned. I have no clue what he is talking about. He also would not give me any further info, not who I had insulted or in which way I had insulted them. I mean, you'd think that if they go to the boss with their complaint it must have been something serious, right? Shouldn't I remember that? I don't understand anything. I work 2 days a week and have so much to do that I more often than not do not even manage to eat lunch, leave alone take the time to talk to a lot of people. How did I supposedly manage to offend not only one, but two people to a degree that they would complain about me? I don't know what to say. Not now and probably also not next week. What am I supposed to apologize for? Which behaviour am I supposed to change? If you understand it, please explain, because I just don't.

Over time I have heard the most from my boss:

- that as a mother I am no longer a "real", "full" employee (because as a mother you work less hours and have to stay home with the kids when they are sick)
- that from an employer's point of view the 2 days a week I work at the moment are nothing
- that I ruin the working atmosphere for the whole department by being negative (he told me everyone suffered because of my bad attitude but it turns out that "everyone" had not noticed anything like that and didn't agree)
- that he did not want to use my pregnancy hormones as an excuse for my behaviour anymore (I am just as clueless about that comment).

And now this.

I think he is working really hard to get rid of me. Maybe that is what he really wants to hear from me next Wednesday. There is just so many good reasons not to want me around anymore: I am one of the top earners among the assistants, because I have been there longer than most of them. I am not interesting to him as an employee anymore (THAT I understood clearly!). I cause extra work by (shamelessly!) demanding a correct calculation of my vacation days and pay and turning to the union for help if necessary. Why put up with that when you can get someone fresh and young without "obligations" (= children) for less? He himself does not need to train those people, so what does he care?

Maybe you think I am delusional. Or senile. Or unfriendly so often that I don't even realize it anymore. But I am not. I talked to some people and the reaction was disbelief. Some also made a dismissing hand motion or said right out that it was very well possible that there hadn't actually been a complaint or at least no direct complaints about me the way he claimed. That's how much people like and trust him.

I don't know what the truth is. What I can say is that I honestly don't know what I did and to whom. Don't I have a right to know that if they make such accusations?

I have seen how it went for others who had children while being employed by my company and I don't want that for myself. I so deeply regret ever having returned to work. In the last 3 months I have apparently turned from an efficient model employee into an abusive, offensive monster that is out to crush everyone's soul. All that while doing 3 days worth of work in 2 days at the same time.

I take solace in the fact that for each person he says complained about me I can easily find 3 people that will gladly confirm that I am a friendly, fun and helpful colleague. But that's not really what this is about anyway. He does not care.
Well, I will take the time I have until the next meeting to think about if I really should return to work before "Player 2" is born. I honestly just want to stay home and enjoy my time with Pontus (which I should have done from the beginning) and later with the two of them. And MUCH later, when "Player 2" is old enough to go to Kindergarten, I can look for a new job to return to.

But why does it have to be like that?

Player 2

Yesterday we had an ultrasound to thoroughly check "Player 2" (yes, we are computer nerds). Just like Pontus this is a very active baby, constantly spinning, kicking and waving. That did not make it easy to examine "Player 2" - and downright impossible to find out whether we're expecting a boy or a girl. We'll just have to stick with calling the baby "Player 2" for the moment. Everything looks fine though and that's all that really matters, isn't it?



The estimated date of birth has been moved forward to May 4th, 2009, which means I am now in week 19 and almost halfway through the pregnancy. Everything seems to go a lot faster this time than it did with Pontus...

Passion for paint

Last weekend we FINALLY finished the work on Pontus' room that has been a total ruin for as long as we (and he) have lived here. Well, when we moved in it was actually a decent looking room with shabby wallpaper. In a first eager and motivated effort we tore down the wallpaper (more or less), just to never continue. Especially after Pontus' birth the work came to a complete stop.

For several months our son has been sleeping in a room that makes Saddam's bunker look like a 5-star hotel and now that he is getting older we were afraid he would notice and felt ashamed. Ashamed enough to finally get on with it.

New wallpaper and a fabulous paint job later Pontus now has a room that he can show off to his little friends. Okay, so there are no toys or decorations or even a lamp (unless you are one of those people who call a single lonely lightbulb dangling from the ceiling a "lamp"), but hey, you can't have everything at once. We're getting there. Slowly. He won't have to wait for another year though, I promise.

Usually our home improvement projects follow a strict pattern: I find something I don't like, I communicate how I want things to be, I nag until the work gets done and then I critically evaluate the result, while my husband does all the actual work. But this time I actually did some of the work myself. Real hands-on manual labour - I helped paint the room. And it turns out that I have a secret fetish for painting walls (like Muddiz has a secret fetish for tucking Björn Gustafsson in at night)! It is so calming, so "wax on, wax off" (no, this is not the paint fumes talking). Evenly covering a surface with a layer of paint requires Ordnung and accuracy and attention to detail - in short: me. I have found my true DIY calling!

I'm dreaming of a pink Christmas

With December quickly approaching I am now busy putting together everything I need for the perfect pink Christmas.

What I already have:

- a large, hot pink Christmas tree (210 cm)



- another, smaller Christmas tree (60 cm)



- 2 adventsljusstaker (traditional Swedish advent lights you put in the window)



- some Christmas tree decorations from last year, including a wonderfully tacky glittery white bird with feathers and sequins that I got from one of my colleagues

What I still need:

- many more wonderfully tacky Christmas tree decorations, such as these:



- an adventsstjärna (another traditional Swedish Christmas lamp you hang in the window)



- yet one more pink Christmas tree, this one even smaller than the ones I already own and made of feathers



I am sure that there's more. There's always more.
Pink is the new Christmas!

Babushka lamp

I saw this lamp in a magazine yesterday. My wishlist just keeps getting longer...

Meaty specialties

There is so much delicious German food that I can not get here in Sweden, especially various meat products.

Just take a look at these wonderful Mettbrötchen, for example:



Mmmmmh, Mettbrötchen...
For those wondering: Mett is raw minced pork meat. Yes, I said "raw", as in "fresh off the animal". Put it on a crisp roll, some fresh onion rings on top, maybe a hint of paprika and get in touch with your inner carnivore. It's pure meaty goodness.

I would also do just about anything to get my hands on some decent Bratwurst:



Dear people of Sweden, this is what real Bratwurst looks like and you might find that it does not resemble those pityful excuses for a sausage that you call Bratwurst at all. Real Bratwurst does not contain finely ground meat, it is chunky. And savoury. It does not taste like a miniature-sized falukorv. Oh, how I feel for all of you who will never know the difference...

Is there a way to improve the tasty dream that is the Bratwurst? Why, yes there is. Meet the Currywurst!



It is a Bratwurst in a tomato-curry sauce, usually served with fries and some mayonnaise on the side. Finding a place that makes really good Currywurst can be difficult. A lot of people make it easy for themselves by just using plain tomato sauce and putting some curry powder on top (and sometimes not even that), but a real Currywurst has to have a warm curry ketchup sauce. And mayonnaise to go with the fries of course. Hey, if you are already eating a Currywurst you can't be too concerned with your weight or health anyway.

Is it all meat, you ask? Do we live on pork alone? Well no, we eat lots of candy too, especially around Christmas. And I already have a whole long list waiting for you...

First snow of 2008

This is probably not the most spectacular news to end my month-long blog abstinence, but, Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:

The first snow of 2008!



In November, that's right. Welcome to Sweden!

Kindergarten

Much earlier than expected we received a letter that Pontus will get a place in the kindergarten of our choice from beginning of December. We had applied very early because we thought that there was no way we would get a place right in time for his first birthday (which is the required minimum age to attend Kindergarten here), but they did the impossible. My husband had wanted to stay home with Pontus in December and January so we will have to discuss what we are going to do now: take the place but maybe only have him there for a little while every day or ask to be assigned another place later on.

I own a what?

If I wrote a post every time I find something in our household that I did not know we had or rediscover something that we haven't used for years in some dark corner, this blog would be one of the most updated worldwide. I seriously can't believe what kind of and especially how many things we have bought over the years. Whatever their original purpose was, their only function now is collecting dust.

There is, for example, the lint remover (noppborttagare) I discovered in a box in our walk-in closet. Why ever do we have a lint remover? For the many wool sweaters we don't own?



Another great example for a machine that is just too useful to ever actually be used is our hot dog maker. Yes, we own a hot dog maker. And it was me who bought it, when I was still living in Germany. For some reason the idea of buying a machine that would heat the sausages and the hot dog buns at the same time made perfect sense, even though I never liked hot dogs. The hot dog maker now is my husband's favourite. Not to make hot dogs, no - just to laugh about it and the fact that it was ME who bought the thing.


I could continue with this list for a very long time, but I must go now. I have to remove some lint and eat a hot dog or two. Why? Because I can!

Flavour combinations

I cooked potatoe soup today, but when it was time to eat the mere thought of it (especially in combination with the word "chunky") made me sick to my stomach, so the whole big bowl is now standing in our fridge. Instead I got the idea that I wanted to eat cucumber sallad with dill, like my grandmother used to make it. And Kellogg's Smacks. Unfortunately my husband had never heard of Kellogg's Smacks and some research on the internet showed that they are not sold in Sweden. Obviously, without the Kellogg's Smacks I didn't want the cucumber sallad anymore either. I mean, who would eat cucumber sallad without Kellogg's Smacks on the side? Seriously.
One less nightly trip to the supermarket for my husband...

Hungrilla & Hormonster

Hungrilla and Hormonster are the two predominant of my many personalities at the moment. They are my pregnancy personalities if you will.

Hungrilla is the indecisive one. She is hungrig (hungry) and illamående (nauseous) at the same time and never really knows which feeling to give in to. Hungrilla is a rather passive personality, but likes to complain about the dilemma she is in.

Hormonster on the other side is very hot-blooded. You do not want to breathe the wrong way, let alone say something stupid, in the presence of this hormonal monster. Hormonster's reactions can range from a look of pure contempt to a full-blown temper tantrum - the only thing that is sure is that nothing goes unpunished.

Anyone feel like hanging out with me? No?

Pink music

I feel like I really need the new Apple iPod Nano 16GB. Not as much in reality as in my head maybe, but who can blame me when it is just so damn pink?

The MP3 player I am using right now is a Creative Zen Stone Plus 2GB. It is of course also pink and, above all, super small, but I think I am ready to take my pink music to the next level.

Blame it on the baby

I was wondering what would happen if we decided to take Pontus with us to the wedding after all and asked my husband if he had told the groom that we might bring a baby. Yes, he had and his cousin had told him that if Pontus started to scream or be noisy in the church, he should either make him be quiet or leave the church.
Now, I think everyone should have enough decency and common sense to understand that letting a child disturb any ceremony is not acceptable. But I think it is kind of harsh to basically be told to "make the baby shut up or get him out right away". The bride and groom to not have children (yet), so maybe they are not aware of the fact that babies do not have a snooze button. And they probably also don't understand how problematic it is to be standing around outside for a longer time with a small child in temperatures barely exceeding 10° C. I think they will have an insight or two once they have children themselves...

I suggested to my husband that we simply skip the ceremony, come to the church 5 minutes before it ends and then pretend that Pontus screamed so much that we never dared to go inside. Or say that he screamed so much at home that we simply couldn't leave when we should have.
It's not like I could not live without sitting through yet another wedding. And we could really use some extra time to get ready and into town. Right now we have a pretty tight schedule for the day - not going means another badly needed hour for us.
But my husband, a bad liar and thus always the honest one, does not want to do that. I say: if you need an excuse, just blame it on the baby! It is one of the perks of parenthood and I don't feel the least guilty about doing it. If I could just get my husband to understand that...

Emergency babysitting

A couple of months ago my husband and I got invited to his cousin's wedding. Unfortunately we lost the invitation pretty much right away, so we were not 100% sure on which day the wedding was. I thought I remembered that it was at the end of October and for some reason we accepted that as a fact without checking again. Guess how shocked we were to discover that the wedding was actually THIS SATURDAY. Not only had we not put together clothes, we also did not have a babysitter for Pontus, which was a real disaster. He is so active right now, there's no way we could take him with us. But who should we ask? All of my husband's family will be at the wedding, Muddiz and her family are celebrating Milton's birthday that day and all of my friends are out of town. Of course I could have put Pontus on a plane to Berlin with a little note around his neck (like Paddington bear) and then have my friend Sarah look after him, but I have a hunch that Child Protective Services would not have liked that.

In the end we asked Muddiz and her husband and they agreed to help out. I can not tell you how relieved and grateful I am. With the party and packing for their trip to Turkey they really have better things to do than look after our little monster.
The two Raffaello we have left - they are theirs! And as soon as I get an opportunity there will be more Raffaello coming their way!

It's alright, baby's coming back

The baby's back. Or more precisely: it was never gone. There was no miscarriage - I was pregnant all the time!

Now, let me make this very clear right away: the doctors last week had no doubt about their diagnosis. There was no "maybe" or "possibly". I certainly wouldn't have told people that I had a miscarriage if there had been any chance that everything would turn out okay. They said: "You had a miscarriage. The child probably had a genetic defect or another sickness that meant it wasn't viable. There is not much left of the pregnancy, your body will take care of it itself. You will probably have a somewhat stronger menstruation and that's it. Sorry, but these things happen and there's no telling why.". And I accepted that. If a trained medical professional sits there, looks you straight in the face and says that you miscarried, no doubt whatsoever, you believe them.

But when I got home and started to read up on the topic things did not seem all that clear anymore. I primarily wanted to know what would happen at the next hospital appointment when I began my search. And I found several people who had been through the same as me: light bleedings and no visible embryo during the ultrasound at around week 6 or 7. It's just that almost all of those people had been told that it was common that no baby was visible on an ultrasound this early on in the pregnancy. They were told to come back for another ultrasound 1 or 2 weeks later and by then most of them could see a baby. Not all, some had miscarried, but a lot of them. The more I read, the more I wondered why my doctors had been so dead-sure that I had miscarried. Could it not have been to early to see a baby? Could I maybe still be pregnant? The bleedings had stopped almost right away and for over a week I had been feeling fine. Pregnant, not like I was going to bleed out at any moment. That had to count for something, right?
I so wanted to hope that everything would turn out well, that I would be one of the lucky ones, but I didn't dare. What were the odds that the doctors had been that horribly wrong? Still the "what if" was on my mind all the time. Those were some of the longest days of my life.

When I returned to the hospital for my follow-up today I took up my concerns with the doctor. It was not the same doctor as last time and he seemed to agree with me that it was worth doing another check up. Some seconds after starting the ultrasound he turned the screen towards me and said: "There's the baby. There's the beating heart.". He kept pointing at things. Everything was there! Everything!
I am in week 8 now (7+2), which is exactly what I had calculated myself. The baby has the right size and is developing just fine. The doctor even thinks he found what caused the bleeding and according to him there is nothing to worry about.

I want the week back that they stole from me.

Miscarriage

After another tiny bleeding yesterday morning my husband and I drove to the hospital where it was discovered that I had lost the baby. I basically have a normally developed amniotic sack and my body still believes that I am pregnant (with all the usual symptoms), but there is no baby (anymore). What exactly went wrong couldn't be determined and I can honestly say that it would not make a difference for me to know. When the pregnancy ends so early on it is most likely that the baby had a genetic defect or was not viable in another way. Nothing I could have done or not done would have made a difference.

I was, and still am, sad. But I am also grateful for knowing the truth and lucky because I went to a doctor and the miscarriage was discovered so early on. I "lost" 7 weeks of pregnancy, but a lot of people do not find out about those kinds of miscarriages until the routine ultrasound in week 17. Imagine that!

I will have to go back to the hospital next week to see how everything has developed and if I need further medical help. And then I guess we take it from there.

But there won't be a May baby...

Sunday, bloody Sunday

The last thing you want when you are pregnant is to start bleeding from all the wrong places, but unfortunately that is exactly what happened when I woke up today. I do understand that not all bleedings during a pregnancy immediately indicate a miscarriage and it was a very light bleeding, but as I haven't had this problem before it came as a shock. It seems that the only thing I could do was to basically spend the day on the couch, moving as little as possible and trying to relax. The bleeding went over after a little while, but I am still worried. So tomorrow I face the impossible task of getting an appointment for an ultrasound - and fast.
Watch out for low-flying pigs!

Awesomely bad music

What does it say about me when I not only know 38 of the 40 songs on VH1's Top 40 "Most Awesomely Bad Nr. Ones", but sing along to all of them wholeheartedly because I most certainly know the lyrics to what I consider to be timeless classics and beloved hits from my youth?
That I am getting old? That I have an awesomely bad taste in music? I guess asking my husband why "they don't make music like they used to anymore" and sighing afterwards earns me points in both those categories...

Gulag camp

Yesterday was my first day back at work after 10 months. Of course everybody asked how it felt to be back and I'll tell you the same thing I told them:
"Imagine having the feeling that you need to see something else, get away for a while. But instead of vacationing on an exotic island you get hauled off to a Gulag camp. So yes, you did get away and it is something new, but maybe not quite what you had really hoped for."

Weight loss fraud

Today I want to tell you the truth. About Muddiz. Or more precisely: about Muddiz and her recent weight loss.

Loyal readers of her blog know that she has been on a cruel, chocolate-free diet for weeks. Her incentive for the first weight loss goal was a winter coat she wanted to buy after having lost 5 kg. She has now ordered the coat, which means that she must have lost the weight.

WRONG! She did not lose that weight - she just forced it off her hips and onto mine! I don't know how she did it or when exactly, but as matter of fact I have gained weight as Muddiz reduced hers. A coincidence? I don't think so!

The real story goes like this: Muddiz forces 5 kg of fat to vacate her body. She shows them the way over to my house. Hunger attacks announce the impending threat. My Gastric Bypass takes on the fight, but 2 kg survive the gruelsome battle and attach themselves to my hips.

It has got to be the weight loss fraud of the year...

The boy wonder

Pontus has been making quite some progress lately. Not only has he learned how to sit up by himself, he has also started to crawl around. It is maybe not crawling in the traditional sense, but he gets around. He has one knee on the ground and uses the foot of the other leg to push himself forward. Depending on his mood he either pushes himself up with his hands while he moves or, alternatively, slides around with his face flat on the floor (very entertaining!). He also seems to have warmed up to his stroller a little more as the last few times we were out did not end in the expected screamfest.

But the best has to be that he started sleeping through the night about a week ago. He usually is asleep by 20:30 h at the latest and then sleeps through until the next morning, in his own bed. What we essentially did was to organize our days, make sure that he does not sleep too long in the afternoon and follow an evening routine. It is really as unspectacular as it sounds - but what a difference it has made.

Crafty corner

With Pontus out of the way (he is spending the weekend with my parents-in-law) I finally had the time to finish the make-over of my room. Goodbye big old computer table, hello crafty corner!

I now got a designated craft table and all of my supplies are sorted and within reach: the smaller items and those I use often, such as paper, decorations or certain tools, are located right around the table and bigger items are stored in the dresser on the left. The computer does not take up much space anymore and I can push in the pull-out panel with the keyboard and mouse on it when I am not using it.







Since my husband bought a new tv recently I also "inherited" our old 37" LCD tv. Now all I need is the Emergency Room DVD set and maybe some more pillows and I will never leave my room again.

A day (or two) in the life of...

In the last 48 hours I

- got my arm stuck in the diaper bin (up to the elbow)
- poured myself a drink only to remember right afterwards that I had already done the same thing less than 2 minutes before
- removed Pontus' bib when he started to suck on the label, fearing that his tomato-coloured spit would leave a stain on his shirt, went to get a new bib and returned to find that he had used those seconds to wipe his whole face on his clothes
- attempted to stomp a sparrow to death on Medborgarplatsen because I thought it was a rat/mouse hopping towards me (We all know rats and mice like to skip, don't we? It's what they do!)
- tried to make Pontus fall asleep, dozed off myself instead and woke up to find out that he had miraculously learned how to sit up by himself
- wondered why my friend kept talking about wanting to become a regissör (director) only to find out (much) later that she had been saying "researcher" the whole time
- poured ketchup into Pontus' lunch and ate it and his fruit snack because I didn't feel that he was as hungry as me
- screamed when the toasted bread popped out of the toaster because it scared me
- realized that we had been using the diaper bin without a trash bag in it
- knocked over the bowl with Pontus' breakfast
- put on my only clean pair of jeans to go out and left the house less than 5 minutes later with huge wet stains on them because Pontus decided to pee on me
- found myself sitting on the toilet, watching in horror as Pontus started to pull the drying rack that was leaning against the wall towards him
- took a nap with my head resting on my keyboard
- got the wrong dressing on my Subway sandwich and agreed to let them scrape it off
and
- washed my clothes together with a paper towel

Sweden's highest mountain

Don't bother travelling to Lappland if you want to see some really high peaks - just come over to my laundry room, where I am currently attempting to break the world record for "highest pile of washed, but not yet folded towels created by a human".

I maybe could (or should?) have stopped with the madness a long time ago, but it has become a sport. Adding ever more towels to the pile is like playing Jenga and Tetris all at the same time: find the free spot, make the towel fit and then gently, gently easy it into place. It's a challenge, it's a thrill - it's better than actually folding them and getting them out of the way. Where's the fun in that?

Why I want to be a Teletubbie

Sitting in front of the tv this morning, half-awake and half-asleep, I suddenly realized that the Teletubbies probably are so very cheery because they lead a pretty sweet life. Their life is so great, in fact, that I wanna be one of them. Let's look at the facts:

TELETUBBIES

- live in a place where the grass is nice and green and the sun shines all day, every day
- get their food from a machine that is easy to operate and obviously never needs maintenance
- have a weird vacuum-cleaning-creature called Noo-noo that automatically cleans up any spilled food and keeps the place looking neat at all times
- sleep as long as they want to and always look rested
- spend their days watching tv and indulging in their hobbies

EVIL BAMBI

- lives in Sweden where the summer has once again been a rainy and stormy disappointment
- has to feed Pontus several times a day while not being given any time or chance to eat anything herself
- is the weird vacuum-cleaning-creature of the household, as nothing cleans itself
- gets to sleep only until Pontus wakes up and/or her husband is off to work, never feeling (or looking, for that matter) rested
- spends her waking hours tending to the every wish of a needy, uncontrollable, neckless little person

And that's why I want to be a Teletubbie.

Happiness is lunch and toilet breaks

Exactly 2 weeks from now I will have my first day back at work after my parental leave. So far I am looking forward to it. The trick is to see beyond the actual work one needs to do and embrace the benefits that come with worklife: regular meals and toilet breaks when you need them.

The mere thought of sitting down and having a full, warm meal in quiet and peace makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's like having a Care Bear hug my intestines while softly whispering: "It's okay. You deserve food, too.". Add to that the tingling sensation I get when imagining going to the bathroom without having somebody scream at me from outside the door and you will understand that true happiness is indeed lunch and toilet breaks.

"Doing a Muddiz"

The last couple of days I have been a little unfocused and doing what Muddiz claims to be her specialt talent: really, really stupid things.

First there was the Chocolate Mousse incident.
I wanted to make Choclate Mousse, but even though I stirred for a very long time the mousse just wouldn't thicken. It turned out that I had poured the milk into a measuring cup designated for flour, effectively using twice as much milk as I needed. It was a great chocolate milk shake though.

Then there was the Coca Cola incident.
I had poured myself a cup of Diet Coke when I realized that I had spilled some on the floor. It was really just a tiny spot, but I wanted to clean it up anyway, so I turned around to grab some kitchen paper. Imagine how smart it would have been to remove the filled glass first. It was standing on the divider between the upper and lower half of the fridge and when the door slammed shut it knocked the glass over and there was Coke all over the place. I will try to look on the bright side here and say that one could at least not make out that one tiny spot in the large Diet Coke sea that was our kitchen floor anymore. Worst of all: this is not the first time I have made that mistake, but rather the fourth or fifth (plus some "almost accidents"). And I got lucky this time as most of the Coke ran down the outside of the fridge. On other occasions I have had to empty and clean the complete lower half of the fridge. I just don't learn...

And then, today, there was another Chocolate Mousse incident.
I do not only seem to eat Chocolate Mousse way to often, I definitely seem to stupid to prepare it correctly. Even though, in all fairness, the preparation as such was not the problem this time. Everything worked fine until I wanted to clean up. I took the hand mixer to the sink and pressed the button to release the beaters. Which would have been fine, had I been using my usual hand mixer. I was using another one though and that one did not have a button to release the beaters. Instead I turned it on and Chocolate Mousse flew everywhere. Until I figured out what was happening there was mousse all over the place. Another not-so-bright moment.

P.S.: My Muddiz-ness also seems to rub off on other people. Moving our new tv into the living room yesterday my husband destroyed the display of our (also new) telephone. He managed to overlook that a unit of his stereo system (plus remote control) was still left in the old tv bench and when he moved it that unit fell out and on our phone. The tv bench only had 4 shelves and the unit we are talking about here is a black box that contrasted nicely with the light pine wood the tv bench is made of. Plus the remote. But hey, I had already done so many stupid things - who am I to point the finger.

Meteorological misdemeanour

Mr. Stormy Winds and Ms. Heavy Rainfall met in our backyard last night and broke Mr. Birch Tree's arm.

Mother's little helper

An Aspirin a day keeps the headache away.
That could be the motto of my life at the moment, if I wasn't in fact taking Alvedon or Ipren instead of Aspirin and definitely popping more than one pill a day either way .

I am stuck in a migraine-inducing nightmare, a combination of warm weather and a teething baby that makes taking painkillers a daily routine. The headaches I get are so intense that the slightest movements cause pain.

I have always made it a point to avoid taking headache pills, so I am not used to being all drugged up and will use this as an excuse for just about anything.
I pull weird faces and drool uncontrollably? It's because I'm drugged up.
I eat too much chocolate and neglect my chores? It's because I'm drugged up.
I let my crying baby lie in his crib while I go away and write this post? It's because I'm drugged up.

Catchy tune

I have been listening to Gnarls Barkley's "Going on" nonstop ever since I downloaded it. It's just so damn catchy.



Anyone that needs what they want
And doesn't want what they need
I want nothing to do with
And to do what I want
And to do what I please
Is first of my to-do list

I hear you, Gnarls Barkley, I hear you.

Married life 2

Me and my husband were talking about the distribution of power in our relationship.

He: "...and I know my place..."
I: "Under my toffel?"
He (resigned): "Yes."

Child endangerment

My husband was home on Monday, so we took the chance to run some errands together. He put Pontus in the car and we got on our way.
We had barely made it to the main road when my husband suddenly stepped on the brakes, turned off the engine and jumped out of the car. And in that same second I realized where the very refreshing draft I had been feeling had come from: we had driven off with the car door on Pontus' side being wide open. WIDE open.

I know that my husband has the memory span of a goldfish (he has proven that more than once), but this has to be his masterpiece.

Second face

I am good at many things or at least that's what I choose to believe. There is one thing however I am totally, utterly incapable of: putting on make-up. It's not really my fault though - if you have ever seen my mother's make-up (unchanged since the early 80ies) you will understand that it is in fact hereditary.

For the longest time I did not really care about make-up to start with. When you weigh as much as I did some colour in the face won't do much to improve your appearance. And I certainly did not want to look like Mimi Bobeck from The Drew Carey Show:



But now that I am leaner and meaner than ever I embrace the idea of beautifying myself in every way possible.

Being a 30 year old make-up virgin is not easy though. My attempts at "learning by doing" usually include me poking a little brush into my eye, curling my eyelashes so much that I resemble Liza Minelli during her Cabaret days from the lower eyelid up and creating an interesting stripe pattern on my face with foundation.

Enough with the self-mutilation and swamp monster looks - it is time to get professional help! But where?
I know that Kicks and Make Up Store both offer courses, but I detest the idea of basically sitting in their store window and having people look at me. Then there's Axelssons Spa, but they only use their special mineral-based make-up. On the plus side I could combine a make-up consultation there with a nice, relaxing massage.

Any other suggestions?

Name matters

Yesterday I read an article in Der Spiegel about a 9 year old girl in New Zealand that sued her parents because she wanted to change her name. They had, in all seriousness, named the poor child Talula does the Hula From Hawaii. Can you imagine having that as a first name? Neither could she apprently. The court not only ruled in her favour - the parents also lost custody of the girl.

When it comes to whacky names New Zealand gives America a run for its money. All of the following names were allowed as first names: Benson and Hedges (for twins), Midnight Chardonnay, Number 16 Bus Shelter and Violence. But even the New Zealand authorities put their foot down every once in a while and rejected the following names: Stallion, Yeah Detroit, Fish and Chips (for twins), Twisty Poi, Keenan Got Lucy, Fat Boy, Cinderella Beauty Blossom and Sex Fruit.

How do people even come up with something like that??

Blogthings

I like to learn new things about me through the little tests on blogthings.com.
Today, for example, I learned which names my breasts have from the Boobie Name Generator:

Your Boobies' Names Are...

Betty and Veronica

It is safe to say that this will both delighten my friend Veronica and make communication with my breasts so much easier. No more "Hey you there on the left..." from now on!

Polka dot overkill

After now having changed the whole design to pink I can't help but wonder if I maybe overdid it. There's just so much colour that makes the circles pop out - it looks like a polka dot convention. Maybe there is such a thing as too much pink after all.

Success!

See the pink dots up there? I couldn't let Inkscape win, so I tried out a new approach on the smaller image. And: success! Now that I know how (and that) it works I can fix the rest as well. Maybe not today though.

Damn you, Inkscape!

I just spent those precious hours after Pontus has fallen asleep and before I go to bed to learn how to use Inkscape. Inkscape is a vector graphics editor with which I hope to one day create some fancy images for my blog - if I ever understand what all those buttons and menus are for. Right now, it doesn't look like that will ever happen.

For an easy start I took my existing blog design and altered the colours, from greens to different shade of, you guessed it, pink. I clicked and I dragged and I dropped and I copied and I selected. And in the end I saved.
It was not until I tried to open the files that I found out that while Inkscape lets you save your images in GIF format, it does not create usable files. Whatever I do, and I have tried everything, the files are corrupted. I get either an error message or a blank sheet and there is nothing I can do to fix it.

Time lost, lesson learned...

Married life

My husband comes into the living room where I am sitting on the couch and says: "What would you like to have? What can I buy for you?"

I answer: "If you ask me what _I_ want then there is certainly something that you want and which you are trying to compensate me for, so I guess the real question is what _YOU_ want to have and how much it is going to cost us."

He (in a low voice): "I want a PS3."

I: "And I want a tummy tuck and new boobs."

He: "How much does that cost?"

I: "More than a PS3."

He hesitates, then says: "How about just one boob?"

The self-entertaining baby

In my effort to be as lazy and irresponsible a mother as humanly possible I have come up with a great new way of keeping Pontus busy.

I present to you: the self-entertaining baby!



You just take a suitable mobile, preferably with a plastic ring like this one from IKEA, and put it on the baby's head. There is always at least one colourful toy dangling right in front of the baby's face that it can play with and chew on. By trying to shake off the mobile the baby can even make the figures dance. It is not only good, safe fun but also a great way to improve the baby's 3D coordination.

I am sure this will become a huge trend soon, I am thinking worldwide really, with my own "The self-entertaining baby" brand. All the celebrities will want to have one and I get ridiculously famous and then I get to be on Oprah and I will hang out with all the stars and I make tons of money and everybody knows my name and then I record an album which doesn't even make it into the Top 100 and I say that it was just for fun anyway even though my heart is broken and then I try to become a movie star instead but all of my films flop and then people start to look at me funny and stop returning my calls and then I have a breakdown which makes me remember my roots and I return to my old life.
Okay, whatever, just remember you heard it here first!

Plumber's crack

We bought pull-up diapers for Pontus but there seem to be some issues with the fit, because every time he leans forward we see this:



I am pretty sure I shouldn't be seeing that much butt cleavage.

So either we change back to our tried and trusted diapers or I get him a butt bib from buttbibs.com:



Just when you think you have seen it all...

Bargain hunt

I went to Eko in Länna today where they had 50% off on all children's clothing. Pontus now has enough bodies, pants, shirts etc. in all kinds of sizes to last him for eternity (or hopefully at least the winter).
All in all I bought 30 items, none costing more than 30 SEK, which is a real bargain.

Now, not wanting to tease or anything (lie!), I would like to mention that to find similarly good prices Muddiz travelled all the way to Ullared with her family. Ullared lies on the other coast - Länna a mere 2 highway exits from where we live.

I think I win this round of the big bargain hunt!

Three-tiered cake stand

Look what I bought today...
It's pink, it's plastic, it's my new three-tiered cake stand from Rusta.



Now I have got a good excuse to bake cupcakes again.

Time flies when you're having fun

Has it really been 10 days since my last posting? Oops!
I guess what they say is true: Time flies when you're having fun. And I am having fun indeed.

Pontus and I are out almost every day, be it to go shopping (IKEA being a weekly favourite) or to visit friends. With our daily routines, the little day trips and the quality time we spend together at home I am really, truly enjoying my parental leave at the moment.

I have also taken the time to finish several tasks that were long overdue and it feels nice to have gotten them off my mind.

I even got around to fixing some things around the house and am currently making re-decoration plans for Pontus' room as well as mine.

Life is not super-exciting, but that's just what I need right now: summer, sun and serenity!

Going, going, gone

Today we moved Pontus' crib out of our bedroom into what will ultimately be his room. With my husband's snoring and Pontus' late-night concerts and monologues people never got a good night's rest.
I am people. Tired people.

We will test this for a couple of days now and see how it goes. Ideally everyone should be able to sleep better and with less interruptions. If not, my husband has to leave the bedroom as well.
Because I am also everyone. Seriously.

The unsung hero

There are some things that make life so much easier when you have a little child, but not all get the attention and credit they deserve.

I would therefore like to take a chance to pay tribute to my unsung hero, the slipper sock:



It serves as a doorstop for our bedroom door, effectively preventing it from slamming shut. Be it draft or my lack of fine motor skills - the slipper sock ensures that no loud noise disturbs Pontus' sleep.

All glory to the slipper sock!

Grrrrrandparents

Remember my ranting about grandparents the other day?
Here is a great example of what I was talking about:

When I handed over Pontus to his grandfather on Friday he had several sets of fresh clothes with him. When I got him back on Saturday he was wearing a new body that his grandparents had bought and put on him. Unwashed. All of the clothing I had packed down was returned unused.
I always wash clothes I buy for Pontus. Always. I may be a sloppy mother otherwise, but I do not like the idea of my child wearing clothing that is potentially dirty and smells of factory. This rule applies even more so now that he puts everything into his mouth, including his sleeves.
The body he was wearing smelled so strongly of rubber and God-knows-what, I don't know how anyone could even consider putting it on a little baby.

But that was just the beginning.
As a thank you for taking care of Pontus we had offered to drive my parents-in-law out to Dalarö. They were invited to a birthday party there and my husband and I thought that it would be nice to go for a walk by the water after we dropped them off, so everybody squeezed into the car. During the ride my mother-in-law suddenly said: "Oh, I am sure you will all come inside with us to say hello to everyone.". I discreetly motioned to my husband that I was not interested in that and he replied: "No, we are just dropping you off and then we will continue on right away.". To which his mother said: "But Pontus can come in and meet everyone, what's the problem with that?". My husband made it one again very clear that we did not intend to stay and meet anyone, but would simply drop them off and leave again. Nothing more was said about it until we reached our destination.
But as soon as we came to a stop in the driveway, the following scene unfolded: While my mother-in-law got out of the car, my father-in-law, who was sitting in the backset with her, stayed put. He then opened the door on Pontus' side from the inside and remained seated until my mother-in-law had gone around the car and secured the door from the outside. And while my father-in-law got out of the car, my mother-in-law started to call for her friends to come outside to meet Pontus.
My husband and I were sitting in the car, engine running, repeatedly saying that we wanted to leave, while my mother-in-law held the door open, making it impossible for us to drive off, while more and more people appeared. Needless to say that the whole situation made us look bad, but who ever cared about that?

My mother-in-law got her way like she usually does. And she is oh so smug about it. She thinks she is clever, tricking other people into doing what she wants - for her it all seems to be a game. What she does not seem to realize is that she actually hurts others with her behaviour. She is not funny, she is simply disrespectful.
My husband agrees with me, even though he finds it hard to believe that his mother would be invidious on purpose. But no matter if she does it intentionally or not, it just can't continue. He has talked to her about this several times, but she cares as little for what he says as for what I say.
So far I have held back because I think that it is my husband's job to solve issues with his side of the family. And God knows he tried, but to no avail. So I guess it is time to take off the gloves and show my mother-in-law what I go for.
You wanna keep pushing me around? Bring it on...

Why I don't want a stereo with CD player in the kitchen

At home we had a stereo in the kitchen/dining room and the radio was on most of the time. That is unless my father had bought some new CDs which he insisted on playing for the whole family. And his music preferences were and are somewhat out of the ordinary. Experimental jazz, freestyle funkadelic soul and what not - if you wanted any food at all you had to put up with it. To this day it is one of my father's greatest worries that he didn't manage to instill what he would call a good taste in music in any of his children and he often makes playful threats that none of us will get to inherit his music collection. Sometimes he calls and says "Do you know *enterrandomnamehere*? Really, never heard of him? He played in the *anotherrandomname* band. Are you sure you have never heard of him? Well, then today is your lucky day, because I bought his CD for you.", after which he usually reads all of the track names to me and hums some melodies hoping that I maybe do know that artist after all. Yes, it is kind of adorable, but it is also heartbreaking.
History shouldn't repeat itself.

And that's why I don't want a stereo with CD player in the kitchen.

"Why I..."

My husband thinks that a lot of the things he has to listen to should really go "on the blog". While I use "going on the blog" as a fixed expression to put my husband into his place after a misdeed ("That is SO going on the blog!"), what he means by it is that I should stop bothering him and start bothering you. Which is why I now created this new headline under which I will be posting bits of information that will give you a deeper insight into my troubled personality and explain the most of my quirks. Some of it might make me appear mental, but then again that wouldn't probably surprise any of you.

Maternal feelings

Up until 1-2 weeks ago I thought that the absolute worst was my almost complete lack of maternal feelings. Now I know that it is actually a lot worse when the maternal feelings finally do kick in.

For me, there was no maternal bliss after Pontus' birth. I remember lying in the delivery room, looking down at the bloody, meaty bundle on my chest and wondering what on earth I was supposed to do with that thing, a feeling that has not completely left me to this day. The first weeks at home with him were simply surreal.
Babies are tricky. They look like miniature grown-ups but they behave completely unreasonable, you can't argue with them and they don't listen, respond appropriately or cooperate, while at the same time expecting you to tend to their every need 24-7.
Babies are, in short, not people I would hang out with.
But a baby is not only the new roommate from hell, it also brings along its scary sidekick: the grandparents. I have said it before and I will say it again: becoming a grandparent does something to people. It turns perfectly functioning adults into demented nutjobs that lack any kind of common sense. Giving unwanted and often outdated or incompetent advice? Check. Ignoring you and your instructions and wishes regarding the baby? Check. Demanding all kinds of things and sending you on a guilt trip if you don't comply? Check. Making you feel unbearably akward about also being "a mother" now? Check.
Grandparents are, again, not people I would hang out with.

And while this may all sound funny it really isn't. I was realistic enough not to expect to live in a fluffy happy-happy world after the birth, where everybody smiles all the time and every day is better than the one before, but I hadn't anticipated to feel like the odd one out either. And it is easy to feel like that when motherhood seems to come so easy for everyone around and people are uncomfortable talking about how unhappy, overwhelmed and isolated you are.

Things got better a little more than a week ago after I met with a counselor. Not that anything she said helped (we talked past each other most of the time), but it was so good just to get it all out. After venting all the pressure that had been bulding up over the past months, I can finally focus on being the best mediocre mother a child could have and enjoying my time with Pontus. It isn't always easy, but the situation has definitely improved.

Which brings us back to the beginning of this posting: the onset of maternal feelings and how it can make life miserable.
This afternoon I dropped off Pontus at his grandparents, where he will spend the night. This is not the first time he sleeps over, but it is the first time a.o. (after onset). Last time I was just happy, happy, happy that he was gone for the night - this time I did not want to let him go. He hugged me and held on to me and I really wanted to take him with me again. Instead of enjoying my free time I sat on the couch, stuffing my mouth with gummy bears and trying to hold back the tears. And even now I could just jump in the car and go and pick him up.
So is that what it's like to be a mother? Intense love, intense despair, intense frustration, all emotions intensified - is that what it's about?

Freebies

I got a box full of really cool children's books at work yesterday:



And to make sure that Pontus won't have to read alone I got a whole pile of thrillers for myself as well.
Brand-new books for free - yes, my job has its perks!

Pretty in pink

This is what it looks like when Pontus helps me open presents:



Shredding paper always puts a big smile on his face.
Or maybe he is so happy because of the big bow I put on his head. Maybe he believes that he won 1st prize for his outstanding shredding abilities. Maybe he likes how the material of the bow feels against his head. Maybe he thinks that he looks especially pretty in pink. Maybe he just laughs back at his silly mother who had so much fun seeing him like this.
Or all of the above.

Cupcakes vs. Muffins

Tomorrow I have to go to work to talk to my boss about when I will return to work and for how many hours per week. I assume he won't be happy, considering that I won't get back to working full-time for a couple more months.

At the same time I wanted to take some cake with me to celebrate my birthday, so I spent part of the afternoon making cupcakes. Yes, cupcakes, not muffins. I researched the matter online and the most hands-on advice for distinguishing the two was this:
"If you threw a cupcake against the wall, you would hear something of a "poof!" If you threw a muffin, you would hear a "thud!"
Mine are definitely "poofers", not "thudders".

Here is the result of my labour:



Top row: Bounty cupcakes and Lemon cupcakes
Bottom row: Hazelnut cupcakes and Chocolate chip cupcakes

Before you get too impressed let me point out that I only "made" them the way my mother "made" all kinds of food: open bag, enhance content by adding a little extra, heat, serve. I had thought about making everything from scratch but then I realized that I was in fact not completely crazy and could certainly come up with a better way to spend my Sunday. It's not like my colleagues care - they will happily eat half-frozen supermarket cake as long as it allows them to take a coffee break. This here should be a real treat for them...

Deutschland vor, noch ein Tor

This is what Pontus will look like when Germany plays the final of the European Football Championship against Spain tonight:



I mostly mean the outfit, not the smile. There might not be much to smile about.

As I have mentioned before I am not very enthusiastic about the way the German team plays at the moment. There's so much that's not working out, I don't even know where to start.
Against Spain tonight the lucky streak that got them to the final will probably come to an end. Considering what the Spanish forwards are capable of and how shaky the German defense is it seems they will need a miracle.
But then again you never know. Germany is a team that regularly does well in tournaments, so maybe they will get their act together and surprise everyone tonight.

As Mundstuhl said in their song "Germans":
We're Germans
Football play we better than you

Sympathy for others

I had taken some personality tests on this page and was talking to my husband about the results:

I: "It examined five personality traits and then rated you on each of them..."
He (mildly interested): "Mhm..."
I: "I had a lot of average scores, except for one part where I got a lower score. It was the part about sympathy. I mean sympathy for others. It didn't say "sympathy for others" though - there's a word for it..."
He: "Compassion?"
I: "Yes! Exactly! Compassion!"

Apparently I do not only (supposedly) lack it, but I don't even have a word for it. How sad is that?

Me love canopy swing long time

Here it is, my beautiful canopy swing!



I made it clear to my husband that he'd better get started on assembling it right away in case he wanted to watch the soccer game later in the evening and that not-so-subtle threat seemed to do the trick. It took him somewhat longer to put the swing together than it took Spain to beat Russia, but at around 22:30 h we had a functioning canopy swing in our backyard. Unfortunately it was dark outside by then and making out a dark canopy swing against a dark background on a photo proved to be tough, so I re-took the picture this morning.
Don't you just wanna sit down in it and canopy swing the day away?