Making an eight year old sleep

Making an eight year old to go bed should be fairly straight forward – or is it?

In my fairly simple world, there’s a two keywords to make it all go fairly smooth.

  • Routine.

Keep doing the same bed procedure every school night. For an eight year old, that should be (according to yours truly) a first notice of bed time at 19:45, and action by 20:00. “Go to the bathroom, put on a pyjamas”. If there’s any loose ends that shold be dealt with (like last notice info that the child is hungry she can grab a banana) or finish anything else before 20:30. Routine is key.

  • Clear messages

I like to be rather short and sweet with my messages. At eight, preperations for bed is starting. It should be done by 20:30. That is with a fifteen minute warning at 19:45. If that is met, I can offer a bit of reading time in bed. There’s no «would you like to go to bed» in my book. It’s just «it is now bed time, finish up what you are doing, and come with me».

This is not up for discussion. Discussion can be a lot of things, but bed time is bed time. An eight year old is not old enough to understand how sleep schedules work and physical state that comes with it.

But that’s just my theory. Here’s what happened last night – something entirely different.

Around seven in the evening, the child ate three slices of leftover pizza. It was a holiday after all. I deemed this to be enough food for the night based upon the marginal intake of food she usually does. The child was increasingly getting tired, and showing all the symptoms by increasing activity and more and more not responding to requests or communication. I forgot the 19:45 warning, but bed time was announced around eight (from my side). Unluckily, her mother did not notice the time, and started to make the child some fruit by request. And with that plan set in motion, I backed off a little. And so the kid started to eat fruit at 20:15, and continued this until 20:30 when I felt it was time to do something again. The child was not hungry any longer, and she could easily save the rest of the fruit until tomorrow morning. With 21:00 rapidly closing in, and the child still not responding to my clear requests of coming to the bathroom, I picked her up from her chair, and carried her to the bathroom. She increased activity once again in the bathroom, not responding to requests of putting on her pyjamas. When she eventually did, the time was now 20:55. She, eyeing an opertunity at staying up late, said she was hungry. I replied that she could eat a banana in bed. She declined, and kept on wanting to escape the bathroom routine. I stopped her from doing so a few times (but I admit this did not help). In the end, I turned her around facing the bathroom window – and brushed her teeth for her (by this time we had been in the bathroom for about 20 minutes with no real progress). Otherwise we would never have made it in proper time – which was already out the window.

The child then leaves the bathrom, and goes back to eating the fruit she left behind half an hour before. With no real support from her mother in regards to the bedtime now gone, I simply gave up and let them settle this (reminding myself that I was not her father, but a simple step father with no real jurisdiction in these matters).

After finishing the fruit, the time by now had turned 21:30. The child starts playing with her 8 month old sister, and her mom is now taking charge – telling her to go to the bathroom. The child ignores the request, and the mother leaves, frustrated by lack of response, for another 10 or so minutes. By 21:45 the child decides, basically on her own, that she would like to sleep and ask for assistance. I reply that I have tried to give assistance, but neither child or mother was very supportive of it. The mother then gets annoyed with my lukewarm attitude. I decide to help the child to bed, but before being able to, the child decides to tell her mother that I had called her «an old bitch» in the previous stint in the bathroom. I did not call her such things and I refuse to apologise to either of them for something I have not said. The child starts to cry because I do not want to apologise. I say I can’t apologise for something I have not said. The mother, increasingly frustrated, tells me; «just say sorry! She’s a child!». I still refuse, because it simply ain’t right to give in.

By 22:15, the child finally goes to bed. She asks to be read to. I decline because it is too late. The child screams; «you promised!» and cries a bit more. She then blames her mother for «hating her» because she too supports the fact that there will be no bedtime reading at this hour. The child heads to her room, but hides under her desk. I pull her out from the desk, and tell her to go to bed. Her mother joins in, starting to question my skills of upbringing because «I am forcing the child to bed». She is clearly uncomfortable with this more direct approach. I know this from earlier as well.

At 22:20, the child is in bed. She wants to be tickled. Even though she deserves no such thing after such bravado, and her mother now frustrated and angry at me for my direct approach, I give in and tickle her feet for five or ten minutes time. At 22:35, the child is finally asleep, and I exit the room.

In the living room I am confronted by the mother. She waves with a book about child upbringing, and refers to the notion that children this age should be in cooperation with their parents – not this direct “it is now 20:00 and bedtime» approach I do. I respond to this by saying I have seen her more cooperative approach which doesn’t work because too many times, this child is going to bed too late for her own physical and mental good. We discuss the matter for an hour or so without agreeing until I realise that I have to go bed as well.

And so that concludes Thursday evening.

Onwards to the next.


Where did all my things go?

One we had a house. Inside this house, we had many things. Some were hers, some were mine, but most of them were ours. I had my own office with a good desk, lots of bookshelves, and my own computer. I had a room to do what I liked the most – to write, to read and to research what I found most interesting. And, we had our two dogs.

Then I moved. I had to. In hindsight, I guess I left most of my things there. Our things. They suddenly became hers. My office, the desk, the sofas, the bed, the fridge, the freezer, the bookshelves – the dogs. I dropped the ball somehow. I just let it all go because I was so focused on what I wanted to do next. Because I felt I had to be focused and make the right choices. So fuck those items, and move on – right? They are just things.

I moved to a new house. It was all mine. Mine alone. I bought new things, but I never reached the amount I left behind. I bought a new bed, and a new sofa. I had brought my comfy chair with me. I loved my chair and as long as I had my chair and my TV, I felt it was fine. Yes, I brought my big screen TV too. I brought all my personal things; books, computer, clothes, framed pictures, and photo albums. In the new house I organized everything. All that was mine. The house felt a bit empty when everything was put into place. I had left more than what I brought in. The dogs came to visit when I could see them, but at least I had photos of them on my wall. I sacrificed them because I was so focused on setting things right.

Then I moved again. I sold the house. To make the deal happen I gave away my new sofa, the new bed, and the big screen TV. I gave away my comfy chair to someone else that needed it. My comfy chair didn’t fit the household. It was just a chair, right? No big deal. Just let that go and get on with it. Just a fucking chair.

Maybe there were more things I left behind too, I don’t remember. I was focused on doing things right – and most importantly making sure I made a good deal on the house. And, so I did. Was it because I gave away my things to strangers, or would the deal have happened anyway? I will never find out. But, they were just stuff. My stuff, but just stuff.

And so I moved again. I moved into an already full house. There were already a bed and a sofa there. Bookshelves too. No need for anything. It was all there when I came. I didn’t know where any of my stuff could or would be placed. There was no room for any of it. So, most of what was left went up in the attic. Memories, the framed pictures of my dogs, my photo albums, and even some of my clothes. My computer too actually. The computer I had spent so many hours writing books on. Doing research. Doing what I loved. There was no room for it. I tried to set it up somewhere, but it just didn’t work. The computer was a tough pill to swallow, but I kept my focus steady, kept my eyes on the ball and looked at the bigger picture.

One third of my book collection are placed on bookshelves now. The rest are stored, but I am pleased with that. I have a photo on the wall of one my absolute highlights in life. I have a laptop placed in a room, but I barely use it. Some small items left are inside two small cupboards. Maybe those items are the core of me. What is left. They include my back up drive, sunglasses, passport, a few pens, GroPro camera, and a few important documents. That’s it. That is the core. It really is.

Where did all my things disappear to? I know where they are, but I don’t understand how I ended up with two small cupboards and a laptop when I used to own so many things? Did I make poor choices? Maybe I was so focused to get things right and do things right that I forgot everything else? It feels like a sliding tackle on a football pitch you never saw coming until you lay faced down in the gras. Suddenly I live in a house where nothing is mine. And I used to have so many things, so where are they? I worked so terribly hard for all of them. Where are my dogs? I don’t see them as much as I want, they don’t fit in. My framed picture of one of them is up in the attic, and my eyes filled up when I stumbled across it the other day. Why is it there? She means so much to me, why is it all there?

Where did all my things go?

This is why I hesitate when there’s talk of investing in a new car to share. I don’t want to loose what is left of my stuff.

My daughter is six months old

My daughter have now turned six months. My daughter. Six months. I repeat it, and by looking at old posts I’m having trouble understanding it all. It’s like I take it for granted now, or am I just too focused on trying to do a proper job with both my daughters (one which is biologically not mine) that I do not have time to think? I wanted a family, and suddenly I have three girls to take care of.

It’s not always peachy, but it isn’t my daughter that comes to me as a surprise and gives me every day challenges. I often hear of parents freaking out because of their new situation, whether its the responsibility that comes as a shock or what not. It’s not like that for me. I am quite comfortable, and I was ready for a long time. It comes to me naturally, but I am not saying I am better than anyone else. Maybe I’m just too naive with the distinct feeling it’s going fine. I don’t know.

It’s the other things that freaks me out. She’s pushing me towards joining in on leasing a brand new car, and I’m not comfortable with it. The costs are high, and she wants me to get rid of my old car in the process. I am not ready to give up something that always have been mine, and mine alone; a car. I am frightened by the thought of not being able to go places as I will be dependant on others and their schedules with the certain car. I guess it’s nothing, but it’s completely new to me. An old worn out car I drive around has been a trademark to my personality ever since I was 18, and old habits like that sticks. Apperantly.

For example. But, back to what I was planning to write about. My daughter.

My daughter is a lively, and an awfully cute baby. She has her mothers eyes and nose, and my ears and mouth. She can laugh out loud, make funny noises and be all wonderful. She can also use her voice to express her dissatisfaction with her present situation during the day. She doesn’t really cry a lot, we make sure she has no time to do it. She seems pleased with her new surroundings and the family she is born into. She often falls asleep around 10pm, and wakes up again around 2am even if she is eating more than breastmilk. Sometimes she sleeps more, sometimes less. She is extremely aware of her surroundings, and has been like this ever since she was born.

I feel awfully proud, and enjoy myself at the most when I can tell people; «my daughter is six months old»:

I am not made to be social

«How come you do not have friends over?» was the question she asked me.

Honestly? Because I’m too tired to be social. My work is so socially intense that the last thing on my mind when coming home is having people over. It completely drains whatever energy I have left. And when weekend comes along, I’d often rather be left alone. Alone with my child, a good TV documentary or a long walk/bikeride.

I spoke about this (social life) with one of my friends the other day. Our social relationship doesn’t revolve around social gatherings at each others houses drinking coffee and talking about people we know and do not know. No, we are social on the football pitch – talking football, discussing light matters that both are comfortable with. We don’t need more than that for our friendship to work. It is, in fact, the only thing we need. With other friends I have other «deals». Sports, music, drinking, online discussions. I don’t need more. I don’t want more. I don’t want to sit around with my brother doing nothing than talking. No, with my brother I go on bike rides talking about Strava. That’s all that I need. Or go to England in July discussing aviation.

I come from a house (where I used to live) where there was no huge social activities going on. The odd visits from my parents, maybe some people over now and again. Not often at all. Maybe no more than once a month. I was pleased with this. It meant I could recharge my draining batteries. I understand now that I was extremely lucky considering how my energy levels drop like a stone these days. It fit me perfectly. Perfectly. I like to endulge myself into my hobbies and thoughts, not to sit around talking with others at all times.

A social life is not something everyone needs or wants. I like my friends, I enjoy their company, but from time to time I often find online friends where I can simply type up a few sentences and have a proper conversation much more convenient. Where I don’t need to continusly try to make up conversation topics (of most which usually bore me). It is more straight to the point, more honest and more relaxing.

It is often the undefined and the things you are not aware of that comes and suckerpunches you. The dramatic increase in my social life is exactly that. I am just someone that have to go along with this ride and adapt. A Mother and father-in-laws (two mother-in-laws actually), her friends here and there – people over, people staying for too long too my taste. Sometimed 16 hours of non-stop socializing. It wears me completely out.

I am not made to be that social. Not in this field of work.

A letter to my two dogs

To the first one,

You know, I can’t believe it’s been six years since we got you. I was never too keen on having a dog, but when she asked me if we could bring you into our household, I immediately said yes. And from then on and for two years it was just us three. I felt so sorry for many switches in owners, and put you into bed at night to make you feel wanted. It’s a horrible mix and misunderstand of human and dog emotions, but I wanted to tell you that from here on out we would take care of you. You were always so kind to me. You showed me trust and love. You had no hesitations in accepting me as your new owner. I remember walking you around town, and I snapped a photo of you. Boy, did you look happy! For us, you were our little baby. Our common ground. When we went to bed at night, I always said “another day tomorrow little dog” and I often wondered when I would ever stop saying those words to you. I know you didn’t really like it when we got Shelly. You enjoy the quiet and comfortness of a home. Not to be attacked by a puppy interested in playing all the time. You were my first little girl. I find myself mixing the names of you and my daughter all the time. And do you know why I do that? Because you and my daughter awakens the same emotions in me. Parenthood, care, and love. And this is how much you mean to me, dear dog.

I am sorry I am not around like I used to. I am sorry you do not fit into my new household. I am sorry my girlfriend misundersands you, and think you’re angry. You’re not. You’re just an aging dog, and you don’t like children. Maybe some misbehaved kid did something to you when you were young. It’s not your fault. I understand.

I hope you can forgive me for disappearing like that. I didn’t mean to. I just can’t find a way to make it work. I really want to spend time with you. Give you cuddles, treats and nice walks. I wish I could lift you up into my bed at night and fall alseep next to you like I used to do.

I had to sacrifice something, and I am sorry it turned out to be you. It’s not your fault. I love you just the same, my aging dog. I just think you have a better life if you stay with people who understand you the most, and can give you the treatment you deserve. And she does. She loves you to bits, and your life is with her.

To the second one,

My best friend, my confidant, my little happy, playful dog. Can you believe I wasn’t too keen on getting you? I didn’t even say yes! Suddenly we just picked you up, and that was that. I am so happy that we did that in 2014.

You give me a feeling of unrequited love I have never felt before. From day one you trusted me, and chose me to be your leader and daddy. Between us there is a bond I have trouble explaining in words. I miss you when you’re not here with me. You let my step-daughter do anything she wants with you, and maybe you do it because of me. Because that is required if you are to be with me now. You welcome them with open arms.

Do you remember those long walks we did a year or so ago? Going out exploring. Just you and me. Best friends. Do you remember those sad, lonely nights when you stayed with me? When everything was shit, and you were the shining star in a dark night? That’s what you are to me, my dear little dog. I will never forget the moment when I looked into your eyes and I swear, it was like you spoke to me in my mind; I give you my unconditional love. Never before or since have I experienced something like that when I’m around dogs.

You scream of joy when I pick you up. Do you do it because we can be together? Because when you are with me, fun things will happen? When you’re with me, you refuse to leave my side. If I go to the bathroom, you want to come. You stay beside me. No matter what.

I am so sorry we can’t be together more than we are. I wish we could. Your place is with me. We have a special connection you and I. I feel like I let you down. How I push you away because others don’t want you around.

I am so sorry I have let you down. I can’t repay your trust and confidence in me. I failed you. My sweet and lovely dog. I am sorry.

To both,

Merry Christmas to you both. I miss you terribly. You are one of the few connections to my old life. One that is fading by the day. My two, lovely dogs. Know that I miss you with all my heart. I have let you down, and I am sorry for it. Know that I will see you again soon.


So what the hell happened?

It is time to reflect a little. Well, “a little”. I’m sure it will be a lot. It is now October 2018. Two years since I moved into my own house after I purchased it. This after I moved out of my now ex-wifes house (it used to be our house) in September.

Two years. Two years since I slept alone in a big empty house for the first time. I missed by dogs that night, and I missed my old house. I had no idea what to expect when I went to bed that night. I was alone and confused. But I know one thing, I slept alone in that empty house for the first time that night in October 2016 because I really wanted a family, and I couldn’t get that with my ex-wife. But let’s make it clear; I did not leave her for it. It was a mutual agreement.

Stuff was painful, and little did I know that it would be even more painful in the months that would come.

I started this blog in April 2017. I was on the mend.

And, so I sit here now with my laptop in a completely different house in a different town. The house I bought in 2016 is already sold. Five meters away from me is my girlfriend with our daughter in her arms having a visitor over. My daughter just turned two weeks old. Two weeks old. My own daughter. People greet me, say congratulations and telling me I’m a daddy. Excuse me, but what? I am?

I got one simple question;

What. The. Hell. Happened?

How did I manage to fullfill a dream of mine in that short amount of time? Did I do all this myself by simply making the right decisions? Decisions are quite something when it comes to these serious matters. They were so hard that it drove me insane. It was so difficult to make the right decisions that one night in February 2017 I simply opened up a bottle of wine and drank it all within fifteen minutes. It didn’t help, but I was desperate. I tore my brains out trying to do the right things. Perhaps I actually did? Maybe I was just lucky? And I know that this is not end of hard decisions. It is simply one hurdle overcome and onto the next.

If I only could send myself a message back to December 2016 and tell myself I was doing the right things and just keep going. But, hey, that’s exactly what I did. I knew what I had to do, and I had to work towards that goal. And I did. I kept going.

There were small and larger elements to my depressive state of mind back then, but the feeling of loneliness and not having children on my own was a large part of it. Feelings of failure and guilt as well. Of simply being a failure as a man. I constantly talked myself down. But when it comes to the feeling of loss of children or missing a child, it was a like a hole in my body constantly bleeding.

Suddenly, now, the bleeding have completely stopped.


But I still miss my dogs. I feel like I have let them down. I think about my ex-wife and mourn the fact she is no longer my dearest friend. I don’t miss her as my lover, but I miss her terribly as my friend and confidant. It hurts. I am still filled with sadness and shame when I think about that terrible phone call I had to make to inform my mother about what was going on in my life back in June 2016. However, I am so happy to see that she is over the moon with being a grandmother.

Think about that; my mom is now a grandmother. And that is the most important part of it all, the happiness I see in her eyes. I made my mom so happy.

My grandparents

In September, a baby girl will be born. I will be her daddy. My parents will finally be grandparents, and my grandparents will be great grandparents. If they had lived.

I guess it comes to most people when a new generation is born. Suddenly you start to look back to where this baby girl comes from, this fresh new human being. I finally understand why old people when I was a child studied my face and told my mother how I looked like so and so relative. Or how I looked like my dad but had the heart of my mother. It comes from perspective. It comes from understanding that life is finite and suddenly it’s all over and a new generation will take their place. And in those 100 years or so since my grandparents were born, everything have changed and nothing have changed at the same time.

I don’t even know when my fathers father (my grandfather) passed away. I think my father was 15 at the time. For me, it’s always been like this and I never dwelled on the fact he wasn’t around. It is only during these last years and months I have come to realise that this kind man never got to experience growing old. He would never see his grandchildren being born. He would never experience that day when my father got his private flying license and roared over our house in a Cessna 172. He would never see how much my father have accomplished. From five year long boat and car restorations, playing blues rock or attending air shows with his son. The story of my grandfather is nothing but a sobering tale of «what if’s», but I guess – like my father most likely have concluded – you can’t dwell on it. A life ended halfways and there’s nothing you can do about it. I never got to meet him, and at times like these, with a baby girl coming, it creates a certain grief I have not experienced before.

While my father have been resilient about everything, my grandmother was not. Her life spiralled out of control after he died. She would never recover, and would spend decades struggling with un-treated anxiety, periods of severe alcoholism, chain smoking and simply living a horrible life alone in an apartment 60 minutes away from my family by car. I guess that with my grandfather life ending so abrubtly, so did hers. But she had a choice, and she made poor decisions. She would neve really be a functioning grandmother, but my father always sheltered his children from her behaviour. I remember once when she would visit us and we would pick her up at the bus station. She came as planned, but obviously drunk. My father caught on at once, and told her to get out of the car and take the bus back where she came from. And that she did. It happened so quickly I never really understood what happened until I was a grown up. She died about five years ago, having lived a very unfullfilling and lonely life. A failed life. But she’s still my grandmother, and I miss her. I can even understand her. Life is sometimes just too hard to handle. She was the one that gave me the Christmas present I remember the most; a CD stereo system. She must have saved for months and months for it.

While my grandparents on side ran into hardship and even death, the other side lived a different life. A countryside life with many children and a heap of grandchildren. My mother was the fifth and last in line of girls. I guess my grandpa, in his early 40s then, wanted one last go at having a boy, and subsequently failed in the attempt. He had no education to speak of, but worked different jobs through life. Often when I worked nursing homes in the beginning of the 2000’s, old men that knew him often remembered  his height. He was quite short. Family to my grandpa was everything. He never travelled, he settled. Like most people in his generation did. Because they had no other choice. It doesn’t mean he didn’t have a good life. Family is the most important thing, and grandpa had that in a large scale. I grew up next door to my grandpa and grandma, but they were already growing old quickly when I just started growing up. I wasn’t even a teenager when my grandma developed alzheimers and I’m the only one of my sibblings that developed some sort of relationship with them. My grandpa sort of gave up his physical state in the early 90s and ended up in a chair in his home for the last six or seven years of his life depended on home nursing. In 1998 he died, and the last thing he did was call out for my grandma.

There’s something strange about my grandma though. When I think of her, I get a sense of love and care I can’t figure out. It’s been coming to me the past years. I have developed some sort of new bond to her even if she’s been gone since 1994. My grandma was a lot like my mother. With deep care and commitment she took care of her family and her grandchildren. She knew little about the world and it’s complexity. The whole world to her was the surrounding peaceful countryside. She was a real a product of her time. Simpler times. It’s indeed a wonderful place most people in the world can only dream to live in. When I was very young, I often played outside and I could smell that distinctive smell of the dinner she was making. Potatoes, brown sauce, Norwegian meatballs. A smell that is not often to be found today. And I know she cared deeply for me. Alzheimer destroyed her last five years on this planet. I can’t even imagine what she went through, knowing she would drift away somewhere else.

I have developed a new relationship with my grandma these past years. I have almost gotten to know her again. It is one of the most strange spiritual experiences I’ve had. I can’t figure out what it all means. It doesn’t matter what it is really. I just accept that it is. And if she’s somewhere around looking after her family still, I know she will be very excited and very proud that another generation will step into the world this September. Like all of them would be.

Into the Fire

Another D-Day today. It’s been too many. Maybe this one will be the last one?

I just saw an Instagram photo by someone I slightly know. She’s pregnant. “We are so excited!” the text said attached with a countdown photo of her pregnancy.

They are obviously over the moon and really looking forward to June – her due month.

As for me, well, I haven’t mentioned my girlfriends pregnancy to anyone lately. Well, with the exception in a conversation with her mother when my gf rudely told her “maybe it’s dead” when her mother mentioned it. I should have told her to fucking behave her age. Or today, when we’re off to the ultrasound in a couple of hours, and I wrote her “you know, my gut feeling tells me it’s a boy” and she responds with “ok, I’m going to lie down now”.

It makes for great excitement. But hey,the male has to be supportive. Just be supportive. Whatever she wants, it’s good. Doesn’t matter. Just act like an adult and try to be there for her. And I do. No need to lecture me on female rights – I’ve read all, and support all. But there’s no substitute for decency.

She fell a two or three weeks ago out on skis. Might have fractured a rib. There was no other injury, but I was obviously worried about the baby. She haven’t bothered that much about it, and did not want to see a doctor or anything. So, for me, without getting any consolidation from her about what’s going on inside her – the ultrasound will at least confirm if the baby is alive. I think it is though, but it’s still frightening. So, that’s what’s been on my mind for the past three weeks.

I talked to my doctor last week. I told her my past two years have not been normal in terms of family, children, relationships I’ve been through
more than most do in a lifetime. There’s just nothing normal with any of this, and I haven’t even begun to feel bitter about my girlfriend taking
away my initial joy and excitement about a pregnancy. Because right now, I’m simply numb. I told my doctor the same thing. I’m numb. Like I’ve been
in some form of war or fistfight for the past two years, and even if I did win the fight, I am so battered that I can’t enjoy my victory. If it is a victory that is.

I wrote my doctor, as she told me, a letter explaining my situation and how I wanted someone to talk to. To sort all this out. Sort out my ex-wife and what
I went through there as well my ex-girlfriend and my current state of affairs. It’s all mixed up in one big pile of mess.

But one thing I do know; this is it. On the path I am now taking, this is it. There will be this chance or no more. I am going into the fire.

And I can’t believe I am where I am right now, just a year after I started this personal blog/diary. I still don’t know if I’m better off or not.

It’s like someone hearing my thoughts and replied with; “we will give you what you want, but you will have to endure and you will have to fight”.


“So, congratulations on becoming a father!” she said yesterday. She’s a friend of my girlfriend. Long time friend. Like, really long time. I know her from middle school, but we never really talked. Not until recently. She seems to be quite smart, reflective even.

“Thanks, but I’m not one just yet”, I somberly reply. The answer catches her off-guard, and there’s an awkward feeling the air. I know my girlfriend have been talking to her about her feelings about this pregnancy; that she basically don’t want it and have this idea I pressured into it. I am quite sure it’s a bit more complicated than that though.

I change the topic as quick as I can.

I dawned on me that I am completely numb from this situation. There is no joy any more. Not like it’s supposed to be. Two people being happy. Here’s one person so unsure and frightened about it that she has truly and utterly destroyed any feelings of happiness. I don’t blame her for it, but I am bitter for it. I am bitter because there was absolutely no point in doing it like this.

I visit my mom later that same day. I was about to tell her, but I didn’t. I want it to be a happy time. Not a sober time where I basically tell her she’s becoming a grandmother in some robotic voice. It’s not supposed to be like that.

Maybe I will find the excitement again down the road, but right now I am totally out of breath and out of energy. I am numb. Simply numb. I don’t really believe it any more for some reason. And, considering my age and my relationship – this will be the only time I’m going through this – and you know what? If it’s going to be like this, I’ll be happy with one time only.

I have an doctors appointment on Wednesday. Maybe I’ll need it. I don’t know yet.

In the Beginning

Week 14 + 3

This will be the first (of perhaps many) letters to you. Maybe one day you will read them all, or maybe this will be long gone in the mist of technological advancements by the time you have grown up enough to understand all of this. Who knows. It’s in English as well, which serves as a good code language between us. Your mother most likely won’t be able to keep up with these ramblings anyway. She once told me she quickly loose track if anything is in English! By the way, I do hope you will find usage of the English language as exciting and fulfilling as I have through the years.

First, well, I’m sorry it took a while! I had a few issues to take care of first. I’m sorry I’ll be a bit of an old fart, but here’s the thing; I don’t plan on being old. My father always said; keep yourself updated on your surroundings. Embrace new technology. Always be positive to advancements. Never let the world pas you by while you’re stuck in some godforsaken decade where the internet sort of doesn’t exists (except when you pay your bills). Stay on top of the world and the current. I plan on doing the same. It truly is good advice.

On New Years Eve 2001, Axl Rose took to the stage for the first time in almost 10 years and told his audience; “I have traversed a treacherous sea of horrors to be with you here tonight”. I have to admit I feel the same about this. I could write a book about it all, but it won’t be realistic enough for people to buy into it. I am confident it will be worth it though.

Right now, I don’t even know if you’re a boy or a girl. I can honestly say I don’t care. I’ve seen you on a TV screen, wobbling about in your mothers stomach. You be nice to her. She have been feeling unsure and unwell. Treat her nice. It’s not her fault. It’s just nature and hormones. Life experience even. Just make sure you grow right and be all healthy. It would mean a lot to her. Comfort her, and care for her like I do, and it will be alright in the end.