Hit me baby one more time

I am not a happy preggo - I will freely admit that. There is just too much to dislike about the whole pregnancy thing and the babies seem to feel my resentment. Yes, their housing might be rent-free for 9 months, but I am the landlord from hell and both Pontus and Player 2 have been and are very eager to get out. Unfortunately the babies never seem to understand that the only exit is the long dark tunnel leading down and try to find other escape routes instead. They have tried to dig and scrape their way out of my back or through my skin, attempted to kick through my ribs and (a big favourite) repeatedly tried to push out through my bellybutton. It is a constant stomping and scratching and stretching and moving - my organs must be bruised beyond recognition and it's still 6 weeks to go.

Stop hurting me and swim towards the light, my neckless little friend! Swim!

Boy or girl

I have been thinking about this and not knowing if the baby is a boy or a girl has both advantages and disadvantages.

Disdvantages:
- You are never able to speak about the baby in a normal way, but always have to keep things open by saying "he or she". That gets a little annoying in the long run. My attempt to simplify the situation by referring to the baby as "klumpen" (the lump) and "it" was NOT appreciated by my husband, who felt that it was inappropriate to call a child that (as if the baby can hear it, please!).
- You have an extra hard time choosing a name. Finding a boy's name was difficult enough the first time (there was only one we could agree on at all). Now we have to come up with another one AND a girl's name as well, just to be prepared. Trust me, you do not want to start discussing names in the delivery room. It is a time-consuming, unnerving process and it does not help to know beforehand that half of the work is totally in vain.

Advantages:
- You provide a certain entertainment for the people around you who want to guess the gender of the baby. Like Muddiz's husband who, from a fuzzy ultrasound picture showing mostly the baby's head, deducted that we were definitely expecting a boy. (He was however not interested in betting on it. Coward!)
- You might be more motivated during the actual birth. With Pontus I knew what I was getting. I would not have needed to squeeze him out to know that he was a boy. It was like opening a present, but basically knowing what was inside. However, if you don't know if it's a boy or a girl there's only one way to find out: you gotta push and you gotta push hard. And then at the end you get the surprise. Like opening a present without knowing what's in it, to use that metaphor again. It sounds more enticing, doesn't it?

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...

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...

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?

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.

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.

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!

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?

Uber-mother

I had bought more fruit than was needed for Saturday's fruit sallad and the usual mode of operation in this household would be to let it rot until it starts to look and/or smell funny.

Yesterday, however, my inner Uber-mother came out and demanded that I don't waste food but instead turn it into healthy, self-made fruit puree for Pontus. And so I found myself standing in the kitchen last night, equipped with a hand blender and the fierce determination to make the best damn puree ever.

The mix of 1 nectarine and 1 banana turned out to be too runny, so 2 more bananas were sacrificed to the puree god. And then 1 pear. And 1 apple. In the end the puree was just as runny as before, there was just much more of it. So much more in fact that I wasn't sure I had enough containers to fill the mud-coloured slime into. (Really, how do the big manufacturers manage to make their puree so viscous? Do I even want to know?)



I gave Pontus a spoonful to see if the puree was worth saving and he seemed to like it. Actually, he liked it so much that he ran after me in his little baby walker to get some more, constantly driving into my heels as I tried to pour freezable portions.

Being an Uber-mother hurts...

I can do magic, me

Everytime I change Pontus' diaper I feel like a magician. Not only do I magically make a dirty diaper disappear and a clean one appear, I also get to practice a trick that is popular with illusionists and clowns alike: the handkerchief chain. I am sure everyone has seen a long chain of colourful hankys that are tied together being pulled out from a sleeve or from behind someone else's ear at some point in their lives.
That is essentially what I do with the wet wipes. I NEVER manage to pull out just one from the dispenser, usually finding myself holding up a chain of 3 or more wipes with my right hand while trying to keep Pontus in place with my left one.

It's the year 2008 and we have been sending people to the moon for decades. How difficult can it be to make a working wet wipe dispenser?