Just a Few Months To Go

I often hold my hand on her stumach. Usually at night. You tend to keep active around midnight and onwards. Please change your routine so you will sleep at night, ok? 😃 To feel your kick is amazing. Unreal. Your mother, even if she’s been through this once before feels the same. Just unreal.

You kick here and there. Punch with your small fists perhaps. We speak of you at night when we og to bed like you will just show up at our door in a few months. I remind both of us that we’re talking about someone already present with us. Always there. You are just inside her stumach, growing and doing all kind of unborn baby things.

My mother is ever so happy. I hear it when she speaks. Her tone. The happiness she can’t hide. She wonders about your name. We give her a few suggestions, but we’re not sure yet. It’s hard you know. How can we know your name? We haven’t even met you yet. We go up to the attic and grab big boxes of baby clothers. Left from when your half sister was a baby. Your mother looks at these clothes with stars in her eyes. All those dark thoughts she had seems to have disappeared. She’s nesting now. Cleaning, tidying, worrying. Thinking about how you will look. How you will be. She’s looking at photos of your sister, thinking of those days with her as a baby. Your mommy is getting ready.

Boy how far I’ve come in a year – in two years. Everything I lost I have gained back. Like a society crippled by war and then resurrected back into something better. Like an anthill being knocked over and re-built better and, stronger than ever before. I simply can’t believe it. Was it all planned out like this?

I imagine birthday cards I will give you. Signed «from your daddy» and I have to stop and remind myself it is me I’m thinking about. I turned it all around. All those strategic plans and reflections I did two years ago. And it all ended up exactly like I had envisioned.

Just a few more months to go.

Daddy.

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“Pay via Paypal”

“Did you buy her any toys yet?”

The question came from one of my best friends and co-workers. I had to honestly admit I hadn’t really been buying her anything. Perhaps it was because I up until now had no money to buy anything. Perhaps it was because it hadn’t really sunken in yet that this was really happening.

“Take your stepdaughter with you and buy stuff. Let her pick the toys”

I had to admit, once again, that this advice was really good, and I was surprised I had not thought of it before. I didn’t want to wait though, so I went online and bought them both a teddybear. One of those TY bears for my stepdaughter (shocking have you can make a fortune on teddybears by simply enlarging their bloody eyes) and one bigger rabbit to my unborn daughter.

It was a peculiar moment. I was buying something for my own daughter. I suddenly had a direct relationship with her. I was picking out things for her. I had to stop and just take in that moment. Suddenly it became so very real.  Have I been in denial the whole time? Was the struggle to get where I am now last winter so bad that when it was finally over, I couldn’t shake it and continued to live in a state of limbo? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Suddenly it was a simple question from a friend and one fluffy rabbit online bought via Paypal that made emotions just flood me. I mean, I have felt my girlfriends stumach. I’ve felt the bumps and the moves and everything. But no, a click on “pay via Paypal” did it. I was buying my daughter things. Real things for a real girl. My girl. My daughter. That silly looking fluffy rabbit is for her. I bought it for her.

 

Transit Time is About to End

I sold my house yesterday. That is, it’s been sold for a few days now but we signed the contract yesterday. It happened on the exact day when I first met my girlfriend a year ago. Funny that. I guess thats what you call symbolic? It’s almost a bit scary.

I bought my house almost six months after my marriage fell apart. I wanted to wait until the right moment came to buy the right house. Turns out – in the end – it was a really good idea even if I have been living on an extremely tight budget for two years considering the expense of living in, and maintaining a house of that size all alone. Back in 2016, I had actually won the bidding round for another house, and if that deal hadn’t fallen through at the last minute I would have been much worse off and in much more trouble. Take my word for it.

Come to think of it, that happened twice actually, almost the same way. Thankfully those fell through and this deal happened.

I never really intended on selling my house. My plan was to live there for the forseeable future, meet someone marginally younger with no house commitments herself and create something together in this house. It was perfect for families with one or two children. Perfect area for children with a kindergarten and a school very close by in the neighbourhood. My backgarden was lovely and both sides of the property was covered up by trees and bushes so it didn’t feel like living in a suburb at all. It felt like living rather isolated  – as I wanted too. I honestly don’t like neighbours that much. I loved the property even if the house needed some upgrades. Now, I’m not extremely handy – I am first and foremost an academic. But I did what I could with it and boy it paid off.

The first night in my house in the fall of 2016 was a somber, depressing experience. I felt like I was breaking in, and living in a house that didn’t belong to me. All my stuff was packed in boxes. Nothing was in order. I didn’t even have a bed. Just a tiny, single one meant for guests or children or whaetever. I went to sleep that night listening to the complete silence. It engulfed me. There were no dogs around me either. Suddenly  the days with my dog beside me and another on the floor were gone.  It was just me all alone in a big house. It felt horribly wrong for a 35 year old. After a week or so, at least it didn’t feel like I was making a criminal offence going to sleep, but the loneliness and silence never let go. Coming home to an empty house, watching TV alone – feeling like I was wasting time. It felt like that at least until the spring of 2017 when I spent more time in my house.

I painted the entire first floor within weeks of living there. I also painted the stairs in a proper and modern blue-gray colour. It took me like nine hours work those stairs. In February 2017 I re-did the kitchen with new colours. At least my house did not look all 1997 any longer. It honestly looked alright. In the spring of 2017 I even had two parties full of people coming in and giving me compliments about the look of the place. In the summer of 2017 I did some work outdoors. I removed some bushes and trees, made things look a bit better. My mother helped me all the way. So did my father and sister.

During the first six months or so I struggled badly. The silence and emptiness of being there alone was overwhelming. Mostly because of my age. I felt so old. Some neighbours around me were my age and had families. I felt completely out of tune with the world. It was like I had been flown off to a foreign country and left there with no way of coming home. I felt society had somewhat left me behind. Chewed well and spat out like a piece of meat. A very serious and real feeling of failure did not leave me for months and months. I was severely depressed. It took me almost a year to feel right again. Like the person I once was. I think that time came for real on June 30 2017, and I knew it. I even wrote about it.

I leave that house now with mixed feelings. The fact is, I managed to get out of the deal in a good way. So even if my longterm plan for the house is canceled, it served its purpose. Was it ever really my home? No, not really. I haven’t really slept there for months now. I have no personal connection to it. I have no sense of loss from it. I feel slightly bad for my parents to invest so much time with it, and then I get rid of it all of a sudden, but they know I’ve made a good deal and as payment they get to be grandparents. Not a bad deal I’d say.

In ten years time, the house will just be a reminder of a transit stop between my past life and my next life. Like an airport. Like my seven hour transits in Prague ten years ago. I was neither here nor there. And I got out of it in a good way. In all ways possible. From feeling like I completely failed in life to a complete victory in two years time. A proper comeback. Am I lucky or just a good planner? Did I loose something between 2016 and now? Yes I did, but gained more. I will gain the most important thing in the world, and screw it if I can’t gather enough time to write books any longer. My two year transit is about to end. I can finally start a new life.

Midnight hospital visit

I sold my house a few days ago. Funny how stuff simply falls into place sometimes, just as easily as they sometimes fall out of place. I got my asking price as well. So, we decided to celebrate and went to this fancy seafood restaurant. The weather was all peachy like it has been the past month. We ate a seafood platter outside and had a wonderful dessert to go with it.

It is when we’re heading back home she says she doesn’t feel that good. She’s been having cramps in her lower abdomen. They keep coming and going, and she’s been having them all day. We decide to call the hospital. She gets one when we’re calling them, and I start to time them. Another comes fifteen minutes later. They seem to be frequent. The hospital doesn’t take any chances, and wants her in for a check. And so we swing by the hospital just before 23:00. We’re not nervous when we walk through the hospital corridors, but we’re slightly tense. I automatically start to think how maybe everything will come crashing down again, it’s after all a hairs bredth between victory or death in these matters. At least to me.

They check her well and good, but their communication skills leaves something to be desired. It’s always like this in this game. The doctor that checks her is Swedish or foreign with a Swedish accent. He looks at the monitors with a very strict and serious face, and it takes forever before he says «it all looks good». Not once do they say what they think is going on, they just ask questions and look serious. It’s almost a surprise when he says everythings fine. Then he says «this gets me worried». He refers to the placement of the placenta.

He feels it’s quite low and might block the babys exit. However, once her inside expands – the placenta moves along with the expansion. Almost like if you mark the bottom of a balloon and then blows it up. The mark have most likely moved away from the very bottom. But he would like us to come back in week 32 for a check. My girlfriends gets worried – anything but a natural birth scares her. We tell the nurse about our worries. She’s a better communicator than the doctor at least. We wait it out at the hospital for about two hours, as recommended.

After almost two hours time, the doctor comes back in and apologises for being a bit blunt about the placenta. There’s no need to worry apperantly, and we’re heading back in week 32 for a check anyway. It was already scheduled. I find it a bit odd as the placement of the placenta have been described in previous documents as «high on the backside». The placenta doesn’t move on it’s own – only by expansion. I mention this, but get no clear response. So someone is looking at things wrong, we just don’t know who. Up until this point, we have gotten no explenation about what’s causing the cramps/pain. We think it might be because of the placenta, but the doctor says it’s not. My girlfriend asks if it’s Braxton Hicks. The doctor says he thinks it might be. It dawns on me that he wouldn’t have answered or explained what it could be if it wasn’t for her asking him directly. But I’ve seen this before. Lack of proper communication. Doctors so confident that they simply forget to inform the most important person about what’s going on. Being more interested in the check than the conclusion.

And while waiting it out at the hospital I had already Googled Braxton Hicks and concluded that if it wasn’t an early-birth situation (which I could conclude it wasnt sure to the doctor mumbling «everythings fine», it must be Braxton Hicks.

And so we leave the hospital at 01:30 in the morning. I hope I won’t be back until week 32 and then for the birth – and at the right time.