Time

"Time goes by so fast, and the older you get the faster it goes." When I was younger I used to shrug my shoulders and brush that line off whenever someone told me. I totally disagreed, one year felt like and eternity back then..

Well not anymore I tell you. I hear you and am willing to bet that by the time I am 80 a year will feel more like one month than 12!

It is strange that those few childhood years, from about age 3 to age 7 are etched into my mind so deeply that I can still recall sounds, smells and feelings, but somehow I now easily seem to forget what I did one week ago! Strange what getting older does with you..

I remember playing outside the day-care in a thicket of bushes, thinking that the grown-ups had NO WAY of seeing what we up to. We would giggle and laugh and collect "gold beetles"- tiny little beetles that look like golden ladybugs.I've later worked at the same daycare,

and the kids still think we can't see them through those bushes, they still giggle and laugh and collect the same beetles... We see them perfectly well, we just pretend we don't!

I remember our mom taking my twin brother and me to daycare on the Spark,

[caption id="attachment_545" align="aligncenter" width="220" caption="a norwegian kicksled, spark"][/caption]

and riding down the hill from our house in break-neck speed (that is what it felt like, really we weren't going very fast)I remember the cold smell of snow in our nostrils, and the feeling of safety that came from the scarf my mom had used to tie us back to back on the spark. The feeling of my stomach doing cartwheels of joy as we swooshed down,down,down the never-ending hill, which is about 25 metres long...

I remember the 10 months we lived and went to school in Greece so clearly that it could easily have been only 2 years ago! I remember my desk at the old rundown school, I remember the old chapel in what was supposed to be the school-yard, I even remember seeing an open casket funeral procession walking slowly by, complete with crying old crones dressed all in black and the body of an old wrinkled lady looking as if she was sleeping instead of being dead.

This sight started me crying as it reminded me of my great grandfathers funeral, which was not an open casket funeral at all and had no procession, in fact the only similarity with the old woman's funeral and the only one I'd ever been to,was the fact that a very old person, who had probably lived a long, hard and beautiful life had died. Yet I cried when I saw it, because I was sad that my great-grandfather was dead,we weren't even close, and because I felt shame and regret that the last time we had gone to visit him at the nursery home where he lived. The very day he died I would NOT go inside. It was scary in there, and we had been there my dad and I only the day before. I didn't like how it smelled in the building, a mix between disinfectant and old stuff, and I thought the fact that my great-grandfather was just lying in a bed and didn't even recognise me was terrifying! I pleaded with my mom and dad not to have to go in, and in the end my dad and I waited outside, I even remember the feeling of the warmth from the hood of our car as we leaned against it in the sun waiting for my mom and brother to come back out. When they finally came out we got back in the car, and drove home, and as we opened the door the phone rang. My mom picked it up, it was my uncle calling to tell us that our great-grandfather had passed away... Guilt hit me then, so badly, for not having gone inside to say goodbye.. Strange how a little girl, I can't have been more than 4 at the time, can feel remorse so strongly that she remembers it, and cries over it a year and a half later when she sees a funeral in Greece...

In our family we were very very pre-occupied with what was fair. It was a big word for my brother and I, very very important and never to be forgotten. I think this obsession with what is fair comes with being twins. We had always had to share everything, and when sharing everything being equal and fair was super important. We had always been raised to think about others as well as our selves, sharing stuff and toys, and sharing and quality being important,it was not anywhere near as important as being nice to others.

In Norway, a socialist country, equality is important, and people being of equal worth no-matter where they are from is preached and taught from an early age. You can imagine our disbelief then when we came to Greece and were playing in the gravel covered schoolyard, as we saw all the kids aged 5-9 running over to the fence and start throwing gravel, spitting and shouting obscenities to some poor kids on the other side.

We were mortified! How could they possibly behave like that?! They were not being nice, they were being damned right evil to this poor kids.We couldn't even begin to understand what was going on... We rushed over to the fence, and peeked through, and saw some of the poorest looking people I have ever seen. Their clothes were either too small, or too big, and tattered looking. And they were all skinny... They were gypsies. Their parents drove around in small,cramped cars filled with whatever you could dream of from toilet paper to garden chairs to watermelons. And I suppose that since the weather was so warm, and the sun was probably baking the inside of the car, they had dropped their kids off outside the church and school to sit in the shade on the pavement and wait for them to come back. The car had just pulled away when the first bully saw them, and started the attack, and the other kids followed as mindless as they were of the fact that these kids were humans too. They were just doing what they had been taught, they had been taught that gypsies were trash, and thus they treated them this way..

My brother and I ran up to the fence and started screaming and shouting too. But we were shouting to the greek kids to back away, and leave them alone. We of course jumped to the defence of the weak, as we had been taught to do, and when the greek kids paid us no attention we ran to the principal, he would surely set a stopper to this...

He came out to see what the commotion was all about, and low and behold he started screaming to the poor frightened gypsy kids as well. He told them to stop bothering the school children and go sit somewhere else.. And they took their tattered old toys, and presumably went to wait somewhere else for their parents.. My brother and I learned something that day, that there was a huge difference between being raised in a small fishing village in Greece, and being raised in wealthy Norway. And as my mom and dad tried to explain these kids behaviour to us, not as something that was ok, but as something that was different, that they were wrong, but that they hadn't been taught better we learned another lesson. That kids will mimic their parents behaviour, and that we were lucky to have parents that knew better..

I have many amazing memories from living in Greece as well, I remember shooting through the beautiful blue water wearing swim fins, and feeling like I was flying. Eyes open in the salty water, and blurry shapes of stones and sand underneath me.



I remember eating copious amounts of what we had named "thing-ice"- a small ice-cream that came in a box that had a secret compartment underneath where you could find a little thing. Usually a toy or a sticker.

The amazing girls that lived upstairs in the house we were renting,



who played with me everyday, even the oldest one who was at least 4 years older than me. And I remember being very envious of anyone who had two sisters to play with. My brother was fun, and my sister was cute, but she was only a baby and more of a doll than a playmate.



I have so many memories from Norway as well, walking through the street I lived in I can spot a thousand places we used to play or make cabins, I can remember all the houses of my childhood friends. We used to come and go as we pleased between our homes. Play a bit here, play a bit there.



It was great.. A summer back then felt like it went on forever, as if it would never end. Now this summer has hardly begun, and I feel like it will be over tomorrow!

I remember never-ending winters, we used to play outside in the dark, the sun never comes over the horizon between November and January when we used to make snow men outside



play with flashlights and dig snow caves. One of my favourite things to do was watch the northern lights as they wound themselves slowly across the sky, sometimes only in green, but once in a while in all the colours you could possibly imagine. And when that happened it would take my breath away, and I would want to run inside to tell everyone how beautiful it was, but I didn't want to risk it being gone before I came back. So I would lie back in the snow and just watch it. It still takes my breath away to this day!



But the fact that I do remember my early years so fondly, makes me want to make sure that Nicholas has beautiful memories from his childhood years as well. I want him to remember these completely careless years as some of the best of his life. I know I can't pick his memories for him, so therefore I want him to have millions of beautiful experiences so that the ones he will remember will be good ones.

I try to think like a child when I am with him, what would make him the happiest, what is the most fun thing for him. And then do whatever I come up with. I'm probably not right all the time, there is so little he can't tell me verbally yet, but I still get  a pretty good idea of whether he likes what we are doing or not.

I am hereby naming my-self a memory collector, and I will keep collecting memories with my boy, and recording them here on the blog for as long as it is still fun for both of us. It is amazing to think that he can read this when he gets older if he needs help remembering exactly what it was we did that time..

---------

On a completely different note Kenny's team A.I.K won again yesterday, great game and so fun with the first win away this season! I am so proud every time I see my husband on TV <3  Nicholas thinks it is funny too! He talks and points at the TV, and smiles every time they show Kenny kicking the ball..

 

 

Hope everyone has fun making memories today!

Maria

 

p.s when I am in Norway next time I will scan some proper pictures to put on this post, in the meantime you will have to make to with photos of the photos :D

 

Winning feels good!!

The important lessons in life are not learnt by getting the things we want too easy or by winning. That doesn't mean that winning isn't great. Because it is! It was a great feeling bringing a friend of mine with her husband and 11 month old son, to the game the other day, and then have A.I.K win 3-0 against Norrköping. Especially since Kenny was in the net, and he was doing a great job, and being lucky as...as... as a fortune cookie! THREE posts and out! Almost unheard of!

We had a great time at the game, and Nicholas joined his daddy on the pitch to thank the crowd. Although he was so tired he was almost falling asleep on my shoulder whilst watching the game, he lit up like a christmas light when his father came to pick him up. And he even clapped his little chubby hands for Gnaget (the AIK fanclub) so adorable to watch.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

----------

Winning is all good and dandy, but that is not what we learn the most from. We learn more from losing, and having to lick our wounds, regroup,and figure out how and what we can do to change losing in to winning. We learn from the way we handle our losses; do we take them personally and lie down crying? Or do we take them as a personal challenge to do better and try harder for success next time.

I guess where I am going with this, is that I think it is important to let our kids learn how to lose and how to be graciously bad at something, and realise that maybe this particular something isn't for you. Because we are not all equally good at everything, although we are all good at something, and in order to find that something I think we as parents have to gently lead our children in the right direction. In other words, not always say that they are the best at everything they try to do. But praising them for the hard work they are putting in to it, and really opening our eyes and giving plenty of praise when they really are good at something, whether we like what they are good at or not.

We also have to let our kids really be proud when they are best at something, not tell them to be a "good" winner and not "rub it in others faces", as long as they really did do great let them celebrate, jump,dance and scream to their hearts content, after all winning feels good! And we appreciate it the most when we've worked for it. Just as we shouldn't give up as soon as something doesn't go our way, we should take the time to really be happy when they do, and appreciate the lessons we learn from winning as well..  That hard work  and percervierence pays off!



photos by Jesper Zerman, to see more of his photos or to order prints check out his webpage here.

He has some awsome pictures, some of which are definitely making my wall...

 

 

 

---------

Yesterday I was in a very "crafty" mood, so I picked up some things at the store to try to make my own slightly different version of these



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I bought some simple white cardboard letters, I chose  only to buy Nicholas' initials as his name is too long to fit on the shelves in his room. I also bought some different fabrics that I liked, a nice blue paint, and glue. I used a simple craft glue stick, which was really handy as i could put glue right on the fabric, and on the letters as well.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I then took a pen and drew around the outline of each letter, cut the fabric letter out, and glued the fabric to the paper letter. I chose to use different fabrics on the front, back and sides of the letters, to give them a more "home-made" look. Inside the more difficult-to-get-to places I chose to paint, as I liked how it looked I decided to leave one part of each letter pained.

This is how they turned out.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I will post a picture later today where you can see more clearly how they look from all angles. I like them :)

 

Now it is off to bed for me, big day here tomorrow! Swedish Midsommar celebration, and we are going to Lee and Karin Baxter's house to celebrate in true Swedish fashion, dancing around the maypole and all. I've never celebrated midsummer before so I am looking forwards to it!! I even bought flowers so I can make Nicholas one of these

 Not in the same colours, and probably will not look as nice, but I will give it a go, and update you tomorrow, or the day after on how it went with plenty of photos!

 

 

 

 

Happy Midsommar to all of you!

Maria

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicholas Birth Story

I think most moms, like me, owns a "baby's first year" book, and I think I am right to say that most of said books have a section in it where you are supposed to write your birth story. I have filled out every little piece of information in Nicholas' book, from first smile to first steps, but I have not - so far, been able to write my birth story. I have sat down, pen in hand to do so many many times over, only to slam the book shut, put it back on it's shelf and think to myself I'll do it some other time...

The thing is that this other time,  has yet not shown its face, and as I procrastinate I am scared I will forget more of this unique and beautiful experience, the thoughts that ran through my head as my waters broke, the relief that I felt when Kenny finally came bursting through the doors, the feeling of his little body labouring for breath on my chest..

I think one of the reasons I have yet not sat down to write this part of his story, is that it is so special to me that I am afraid I wont do this profound experience justice, that the keyboard with its measly 26 letters aren't capable of putting it in to word and adequately expressing the emotions I felt during the few hours it took my little boy to come in to this world.

But the time has come, I've made myself comfortable on the sofa, Nicholas is sleeping soundly in his bed, Ken is away on a match until tomorrow, and there is a steaming cup of tea to keep me company whilst I try to put this amazing and truly awe-inspiring and defining experience in to writing.

Here goes nothing...

P.S I share all the gory details, so if you don't want to hear it, don't read it:)

---------

First let me start off by saying that I loved every part of being pregnant. I loved the way my body changed as the baby inside of me grew bigger, i loved feeling the first tiny butterfly like flutters morph into actually painful kicks. I loved the three first months that made me so tired that all I could do after work was collapse on the sofa and sleep. I loved my body, and I loved my bump. And most of all I loved never ever being alone- even with Kenny living in Fredikstad at the time and me up in Northern Norway I never felt alone, I felt companion-ship and  a love like I had never experienced for this tiny little being growing inside of me.

From the very beginning of my pregnancy I was totally sure it was a boy, so when the ultrasound showed us a little tiny boy who tried his best to turn away from the probing machine we both just looked at each other and smiled. We were so happy to be going through this together.

Like most first-timers I worried a bit that something would go wrong with the pregnancy, but not more than that I told everyone I was pregnant only two days after I found out... I guess deep down I wasn't too worried after all...

I was due on the 30th of April, and six weeks before my due-date I joined my husband who had moved to Sweden a month or so before me.

[caption id="attachment_454" align="alignleft" width="500" caption="easter at the greek orthodox church"][/caption]

The club helped me find a midwife and I made an appointment to meet her about a week later. I was then 35 weeks pregnant, and very confident that my baby would come very soon.

Kenny and I went to her office, she did the normal tests (that I had already done in Norway but she needed for the Swedish Journal) she questioned me about which hospital I wanted to give birth in, to which I answered that I had looked in to either Danderyd or Karolinska, as they both had really good neonatal-care units, and that I wanted to be in a hospital that had all the expertise on sight if something was to happen during the labour. She put me down for Danderyd at first place, and Karolinska at second and we arranged a meeting for the week after.

The next week came, and I was now 36 weeks pregnant, i showed up to this appointment on my own, as Kenny was training, and we talked a bit about what I expected at my labour. I told her I wanted it to be as natural as possible, and that I expected it to go very fast as the women in my family tend to give birth quite quickly. I also told her that I didn't want to go into labour thinking that I would ,one hundred percent,be able to do it without the epidural, because I didn't want to set myself up for disappointment, I would take it as it came... At the end of the session she asked me if same day next week would suit me fine for another meeting, to which I answered " I really don't think I will make it, I think my baby will be born by that time, but sure put me up for it, but if I don't show you know why!" She laughed at me and told me that I shouldn't set my hopes up so high for an early labour, as most first timers usually go over. But I was so sure that Nicholas would come three weeks early that I told her to wait and see.



Fast forwards to the 9th of April in the evening. Kenny and I am sitting on the couch cuddling, and talking about the up coming labour and whether or not he would "look down there" He had been told by many people to keep his eyes away from that spot, as they said they could never look at that part of their wife the same way ever again. I told him that this was of course up to him, and that I though that in that particular moment you kind of separated the two things in your head, that at the time of the baby coming in to this world you didn't think about a ruined sex-life or anything but the little creature that you had a part in making..

10th of April and Kenny was packed and ready to go he was finally going to start in the away game against Gefle IF, a city about 2 hours away. I had already told him that I though the baby was going to be borne the day after, but that hopefully it would wait until he came home. He said that since I was only 37 weeks the chances were slim to none that it would pick that particular day to come.. I was so sure that he would that I wrote this on my facebook status



which translates into:

Grass widow (what we call women when their husbands are away) until tomorrow evening. Nicholas will kindly have to wait with coming until Kenny is back home!!!

--------

I am not sleeping alone in our bed, Charlie our dog is sleeping with me, but he has taken over Kenny's side and doesn't get to close. It is now 4 am and I have just been up to go pee, I am really tired and all I repeat over and over is "please don't let my waters break before morning, please don't let my waters break before morning" The thought of losing my precious sleep is all I can think of, I know for a fact Nicholas will come, call it instinct or what you will but I know, I can feel it in my bones...

--------

I wake with a start as I feel this "popping" down in my uterus, and I literally jump out of my bed, I am soaked through and I remember thinking "how can there possibly be this much water inside of me"  as I look down on the completely soaked floor... I have a towel in my bed, that I had brought in case of this exact thing happen the night before, and I aimlessly throw it over the water. It is 7.15 A.M, Game Day for Kenny...

Through my head my thoughts are running, jumbled up, and yet still clear to me , now 14 months later.

"shit, shit,shit, I knew this would happen, what do I do, should I wait with calling Kenny, and hope my contractions don't start..."

" I read somewhere that I have 12 hours after my waters break before they really need the baby to be out due to infection,... I guess I could be lucky.."

"FUCK, i have to get in to the bathroom, how am I supposed to do that with this water spilling out of me..."

I went to the bathroom, and brought my phone with me, it was now almost 7.30 and I called Kenny. He picked up sounding rather groggy and tired..

"My water just broke..." I guess I didn't break the news to him very gently. I quickly added that I was hoping that my contractions would take forever to start, and that I just wanted to jump in the shower to get "ready" for labour. In other words shave my legs, a thing any woman who has been about to burst with pregnancy knows is pretty much impossible after 6 months..

Kenny sounded like a headless chicken on the other side, just repeating "you are kidding, right?"  and "oh, no, what shall we do!!"

I told him I'd call him back, but that for now all he had to do was go eat his breakfast, and tell his keeper-coach that I was in labour, and that he was on standby to come home..

I got into the shower, and the warm water was so soothing on my aching back and belly. My contractions had started, and let me tell you something; It is damned near impossible to shave your legs in a tiny bathroom shower with contractions coming every 60 seconds.. I think I was in that shower for nearly 30 minutes trying to get the job done, and just thinking to myself "It's happening, I'm going to meet my little boy soon, I can't believe the day is here!!"

At the same time over in Gävle Kenny is calling me for the 4th time, but since my phone is laying just outside the shower and I am in a bit of pain and trying to shave my legs I still haven't picked up... On the 5th call I stick my wet hand out of the shower and grab the phone, and snap and angry "what?!" in to it.. Kenny is stressed out, I can hear it from his voice and is telling me that he was getting worried about me, and weather or not my contractions had started yet. I had to admit that yes they had, and that all hopes of him making it for the match that day were running down the drain, together with amniotic fluid and the hair from my legs.. I told him I thought he should look into how he was going to get home..

I am drying myself off, also a difficult task when your contractions are coming close together, and all I can do is pace. I walk back and forth from the bathroom to the livingroom, completely naked, and unable to stop for a second. It feels like some instinct is telling me "walk maria, walk and it wont hurt you" so I walk, and walk. It is nearly 8 and I still haven't called the hospital or timed my contractions, the things I guess my husband was supposed to do whilst I was dealing with the pain. I call Danderyd's Hospital in between contractions, and tell them that my waters have broken. I am somehow able to carry out a completely normal conversation with the nurse in the other end whilst pacing back and forth. She asks me if I have timed my contractions, but since I somehow can't seem to get it right with my looking at the watch, and remember to look again I tell her no.. She informs me that Danderyd is full, but that my second choice Karolinska will be waiting for me, and to call them when I think I have to go in..

I decide to try to time my contractions, and manage to open a webpage with a contraction counter. I press the button, pace and press the button again, and then again, and all I get is 1 minute in between, and I think I am doing it wrong because I know that it's supposed to be like 10 minutes between contractions in the beginning of labour.

Kenny calls me again, and this time I tell him to ask Lee, his keeper coach, who is also a father, about how to time the contractions, and he tells me to do exactly what I have been doing.. And I still think I must be doing something wrong..

I pace some more, and think "what the hell am I supposed to do with the dog, I can't walk him in this condition..how the hell am I supposed to get dressed.. It hurts if I stand still, and I don't have any clothes laid out...Fuck, I knew I should have packed the hospital bag earlier!!"

At the same time I am trying to pack the little suitcase I had gotten Kenny to take down from its hiding place a week earlier, thinking I would pack the bag as soon as I got to week 37.. I am pacing back and forth, throwing things like my passport, and hospital papers, underwear and nursing bras higgledy-piggledy in to the suitcase, and at the same time trying to get dressed. My body REALLY doesn't work with me here. My contractions are still only a minute or so apart, sometime I feel like I'm getting a window of 2 or three minutes, and it is in one of those I manage to pull a chair over and prop the balcony door open in hopes that Charlie will go out there to do his business.

And in another window like that I call again  to Karolinska to ask them if I should be coming now it is now 9. 06 AM.

I am getting stressed out, and my contractions are coming very close together. The nurse on the other end waits patiently as I breathe and pace through another contraction, and I break down crying when she tells me she thinks I have to come right now. I remember asking her "how am I supposed to do that", and she saying, well, your aren't all alone are you?! To which all I answer is well, yes, I don't know anybody here, and my husband is away. And start crying. She tells me I have to take a taxi then. And I remember hanging up the phone and thinking "but I don't have the number to any taxi company, and I really can't sit still long enough to find it on the computer..."

I am finally reasonably packed, remembering to bring my camera, knowing I don't have anyone to take pictures even if I do bring it. And I call Kenny to let him know I am going to the hospital by taxi, and that I will walk 200 metres down the street where I know there should be taxis waiting to pick up a fair. I haven't put into consideration that it is only a bit over 9 o'clock Sunday morning, and that there might be no cabs there.. Kenny tells me that a lady called Patricia will come meet me at the hospital and stay with me until he gets there, he is already in the cab, as the much quicker train had already left, and the next one didn't leave until a few hours later.

I hang up, and get myself out to the elevator, thinking to myself that I am glad nobody can see me now, with my cheeks flushed, red and with dried up tears crusting my face. I am feeling like the baby will pop out of me any second, and even though the pacing had made me feel better, actually walking in fresh air, down the street made me feel worse.

In the distance I can see ONE cab standing there, at the completely deserted street, the cab driver visible through the windshield. And I remember getting scared, and crying and wishing and praying that nobody gets there before me, because I know I need that cab, and that I wont be able to wait for another one to come. And I remember repeating over and over again, please don't drive, please don't drive, please don't leave. As another contraction completely stops me in my tracks, and knocks my breath away.

I am lucky, nobody takes the cab, and nobody sees me walking like a cripple towards it either. When I get there the 50-something old man takes one look at me and loses his head. "OH MY GOD" he says, "we need to get you to a hospital quickly!"  I get in the car, and it is the longest, most painful car ride I have ever taken. I am slipping and sliding around in the back seat, it feels like torture not being able to walk. Sitting down I feel like I am squeezing my baby's head, and it hurts! I am trying to talk politely to the stressed out cab driver, who bless his heart,runs all the red lights on the empty streets of Stockholm.  When we arrive outside the doors of "Forlössningen" I jump out, and throw him my visa, mumbling something about having to get in there right now, and not even bringing my suitcase. Thank God for Honest cab drivers, he brings my suitcase in, with my wallet, and gives it to one of the midwives who in turn brings it in to me in the room I am in. It is now exactly 9.25

A nurse comes in to the room to examine me. I have been given a not so flattering hospital gown, and those massive one time netting-underwear with a massive pad in it. I lie down on the bed, and hardly manage to hold still while she feels me and tells me I am 4-5 cm dilated. As soon as she is done I jump up and pace again. So she connects me to the CTG with a long wire so I am able to walk, and then leaves me in the room. All by myself... And how lonely I feel at that moment, without anyone to share this new experience with, and how happy I am when this woman I have never even met before comes in the door, and introduces herself as Patricia. And gives me a big hug and tells me I will be all-right. It is now 09.45 and I have been in that room on my own for  20 minutes, and it feels like the baby is going to come out of me within seconds. I get Patricia to go get the nurses, but they tell her I have to stay on the CTG for 30 minutes before I can leave that room to go to the actual birthing room. I tell her to go get them again, and to tell them that they need to examine me now, and thankfully they come this time. She checks me again, and this time I am 10 cm dilated, and they finally get that I need to be in the birthing room NOW.

At 10 o'clock my midwife comes in, she asks me if I want to have an epidural, and I tell her YES! She puts the needle in my hand so I am ready for it and they call for the Dr to come set the epidural. I already feel the need to push, but I am still holding back.. at 10.30 the Dr has been there and left again without me getting the epidural, I don't feel I need it after all. I have gone to somewhere within myself, it feels like my body has taken me over, and it knows what to do and how to do it. I remember feeling like I had to have my leg "right here" and that when they tried to move it to the stirrups I pulled it back to the place I needed it to be. RIGHT here. and they held it for me. They tell me they can see his head when I have a contraction, but that he is slipping back in in between. I remember thinking that it isn't time just yet. Kenny isn't here, and I am somehow in league with my body, as it is holding my precious baby in just a little bit longer..

It is now 10 45, and Kenny bursts in through the door, he comes over to the head end and gives me a kiss, I think I might have pushed him away. I was perfectly in the "zone" and really didn't do much other than thinking this hurts like hell, and screaming in my contractions, because somehow those primal groans made it feel better. I am now leaning over the head end of my bed, and my contractions finally give me a little breather of a few minutes. I take the minute in between to drink, drink, drink, and I remember Kenny filling the glass,and lifting the straw to my lips, and I remember thinking that '"this is how it is supposed to be"

My midwife asks me when the last time I went to the bathroom was, and I told her I hadn't gone since before I went to the hospital. She tells me the reason he might be "slipping" back inside after every contraction is that he is pushing against a full bladder, and she asks me if I want to stand up a bit, over this metal chair "potty" to see if I can pee a bit. The standing up part appeals to me somehow, and I roll out of bed, and stand over that thing, and feel like the baby is going to slip out of me. It is 11.17am and I can feel his head between my legs, and I can feel my body slowly with each contraction pushing him further down the birthing canal. And it is a crazy feeling to feel his head still there when my contractions have stopped.

They get me back up in the bed and I feel my body taking over, and pushing, and pushing, and not when they tell me to, but when my body tells me to, and he finally at 11.27 he slips out of me, this perfect little boy. I can see him in a pool of water between my legs. He cries a little bit, and they put him right on my chest,

[caption id="attachment_441" align="alignleft" width="500" caption="Look at the proud father.. all dressed in AIK gear"][/caption]

and I just look at him, and look at him, and I can tell something isn't right.



I try telling them that he is turning more blue.But they are so pre-occupied with Kenny cutting the cord that they don't listen to me.



I look at his little mouth and I see bubbles, and I see that he isn't breathing right, and I tell them, take him please! And they tell me noooo,probably thinking I am one of those fussy moms, that want him all cleaned up, and I tell them again, and finally she looks at him, and looks at me pushing him up in her arms, and she runs over to the table to suck slime and water out of his lungs, at the same time as she turns around and tells me we have to take him to the Dr, she presses an alarm, and Kenny is told to follow her.

All this happens so fast, and in Swedish, and Kenny only thinks they are going to go weigh the baby.He tells me what happens afterwards, when he comes back into the room. He got a massive shock when a team of Dr swoop down over tiny Nicholas who has completely stopped breathing, and starts pumping oxygen in to him, and doing CPR on his little body. He thinks we are going to lose him.

I am back in the room, with only Patricia and another nurse there, and my placenta has just come. I feel completely fine, not even a bit sweaty, I have after all only been in the hospital for 2 hours, only 1,5 in the birthing room. Patricia is sitting on a chair, and they are bringing in a breakfast for me to eat, and I remember being 100 percent sure that Nicholas was fine.

Later I have though to myself that survival mode must have kicked in, cause there I was chatting happily with the midwife whilst my son was up in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit fighting to breathe.

Kenny had been up there and taken a picture of my little baby, who didn't look little at all, but nice and chubby and with tons of black hair, and who was now full of cords and wires.

[caption id="attachment_440" align="alignnone" width="500" caption="The first picture that Kenny took with his phone whilst I am still downstairs"][/caption]

He got a glucose infusion as his blood-sugar had dropped way below where it should be as a reaction to stress. He has a laser monitor around his leg, to monitor his intake of oxygen, and electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart. He had a CPAP in his nose that forced air down his lungs, and there were monitors beeping all around him.

All those pictures I had planned to take with my little son, the wheelchair ride up to the hospital hotel, all of that I didn't think to mourn at the time. All I could think was that I had to pee fast enough for me to be able to go up and be with my son. I remember sitting on the toilet thinking if i can only pee, they will let me go, keeping the water running and thinking about waterfalls and every other thing I could in order to get something out. And finally, finally squeezing a drop out, flushing, and coming out and announcing proudly that I was ready to go be with my baby.It had already been 1.5 hours since he was born..I had spent that time on the phone to my mom who was very concerned about how Nicholas was doing..

The midwife told me that she would go get the wheelchair, to which I answered, if it was far. She told me it was only down the corridor, and up a floor in the elevator. I told her I was perfectly capable of walking, and I was. I felt Fine. I would gladly have done it all over again. It was so much more intense than I had thought, and yet so much easier at the same time!

When I got up to the NICU I just wanted to scoop him up into my arms, and the lovely nurse who was in charge of Nicholas must have known, cause she pulled up a comfortable chair, and asked me if I wanted to hold him. I did, and I sat with my little baby, connected to tubes, for the next 4 hours without moving.







I just sat there, and enjoyed feeling his little body, and hearing the air that was forced into his lungs, and looked at him, and loved him, and it felt so natural. So right.

Kenny  left to go walk Charlie, and drive him to the doggie day care so he would be free to stay with me the next few days at the hospital. And I just enjoyed the time with my son. It wasn't as I had planned it. But it was perfect because I had him...

Later the same night they took him off the CPAP, and I got to hold him with only one cord and one monitor..



It is only later that I have mourned the time I missed with my little baby, the first hours of his life that he spent without me, without me loving him, and wishing him happy birthday. Without me showering him with kisses, but with strange people prodding him, and changing him, and putting all sorts of electrodes on him. It's only now that I look back and wish I could change that, and that I get angry that they wouldn't let me go to him sooner..

But the birthing part, that part was perfect. And I would do it again. And hopefully I will..

-------------

I know this was a long post, and to those of you who read the whole thing, thank you for sharing my story with me. It was finally time to spill this one...

Love

Maria

A (not so) Ordinary Day

Today has been one of those completely ordinary days, that really don't warrant a blog post at all. Yet, here I am posting about my day, I guess as a way of remembering, recording and looking back on the day in order to sort out those little things that made it a special day after all.

There was:

Waking up by my phone ringing, and it turned out to be Kenny who was in a hurry to leave and needed me downstairs 10 minutes ago...

Coming downstairs and seeing my little boys face light up with joy at the sight of me, and crawling as fast as he could towards me, wrapping his little chubby arms around my legs and giving me cuddles...

The same little boy giving me a sloppy open-mouthed-tongue-out kiss on my lips...

The much neater kiss from my husband.(note to self; don't forget how nice kissing actually is!)

Enjoying my breakfast consisting of copious amounts of coffee and cottage cheese (yeah I know doesn't sound very good, but I have a thing for it) whilst Nicholas was enjoying smearing his breakfast all over my arms...

Taking my little boy to the open daycare and see his little face shine with excitement even before we came through the doors, and thinking it was worth waking up and going down there looking like a slob a thousand times over, to see that expression again...

Taking a tired boy home many hours of play later to find that my husband had tidied up and vacuumed the whole apartment. The bliss of knowing I didn't have to!

Seeing the expression of pure happiness mirrored in both men of my life's faces at the sight of each-other, and feeling Nicholas lunge for his daddy...

The 2,5 hour afternoon nap Nicholas took whilst Kenny was walking Charlie, and I was doing absolutely NOTHING (reading doesn't count..)

The delicious chocolate muffin I shouldn't have eaten with my large caffè latte at the mall...

There was enjoying doing nothing at all but still finding many special moments when I look back at it, and thinking how very lucky I am to have such a great little family..

-------------------

 

Hope you all can look back at your day and find little moments and things that made it special as well.

[caption id="attachment_388" align="alignleft" width="500" caption="Nicholas helping me with my blogpost a few mornings ago"][/caption]

 

With love

Maria

My Joy is gone!

No, just kidding, a little pun on my friend Maria's middle name Joy. She just left to go back to Norway today after only spending a measly 2,5 days here.. Next time I hope she stays longer!!

We have managed to do quite a bit of enjoying ourselves in those days though. The first day she was here we spent in the park from "dusk till dawn" - well maybe not literally, more like from 11pm to 7pm, but still a good chunk out of our day. Kenny came and BBQed with us towards the end of the day.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Then we figured that we would go out, but ended up staying in instead since we were both drained from the sun we had baked in all day.

Then yesterday came with overcast weather and small rain showers, so we took the subway to Gamla Stan to have a look around there, and somehow time just passed too quickly, and we missed the chance to go to Gallerian or NK, the two major shopping centres in the city, cause it was too late!

We went home and Kenny stayed home with Nicholas while Maria and I went to the city to T.G.I Friday's to eat some yummy food and drink some even yummier drinks.



It was so nice to get out of the house a bit,and have some time in other female company without thinking about Nicholas' needs all the time. Being able to enjoy silly conversation and just hanging out.Had a great evening, and came back around 1 am,a bit tipsy, and very happy.

Thankfully Nicholas slept until 9.30 today, so I didn't have to wake up to early. Sometimes it's just great to have a kid that loves to sleep!

After taking Maria to the subway today Nicholas and I went to Kyrkans Öppna Förskola here in Solna, and spent the day playing with the other kids(Nicho) and chatting with the other moms (me). They had singing today, which Nicholas LOVES, so we had a great time there. Nicholas is practising walking more and more now, and is getting a bit better, and more reckless with each day that passes. No careful shuffling of his feet for this kid, he tries to run straight away!!

 

-----------

If there is one thing I miss living here and not in Norway, other than my family, it is good friends! The kind you can tell everything to, and the kind that phones you too, not always expect you to take contact or arrange something... I miss having more of my own life, not that I don't have one, I do, but that life revolves around Kenny's more than I would have liked it to.

Back in Tromsø I have my own friends, I had my university or job to go too, and my family to see. Here it is different. Since I've been on maternity leave the whole time we have been here I only have the friends I've met through football, and they are lovely girls all of them. But their kids are older, and thus they actually work! My one fellow "WAG" (don't approve much of what the word entails, but it is short and easy to write) that had a girl only a bit older than Nicho moved back to Finland right after christmas, so no more hanging out with her... And THIS  really is the backside of the medal, the one that does affect us wives more than it affects the guys, who always will have team mates to hang out with, THE MOVING.

God I don't even like the word any more. It used to be an exciting and promising word,moving, one thinks of exotic places,new things to explore and do, new people to meet, new apartments, new neighborhoods, new, new, new!

Well quite frankly I am sick of new, I am sick of living in hotels for months while you look for an apartment (Fredrikstad)  or out of suitcases (the oslo apartment only had one measly closet), I am sick finally starting to like a place and then move, I am sick of never wanting to settle down too much in case one has to pack up the stuff and take off again.

In the 4 and something years Kenny and I have been together we have lived in 3 different countries, and in 5 (!) different cities. We have moved an astonishing  6 times,if you count moving from one place and back again after being "loaned out", and I am quite sick of the whole thing! In football you make friends with the other wives and girlfriends on the team, as these are the ones you see every week at the games, and who also usually have just moved, or know what it's like to be new in a team. But you also lose them as fast as you make them, their husbands get sold, or your husband gets sold, and off they or you go..

I have met so many wonderful and amazing ladies over the years. In Toronto there was Jocelyn, Carrie and Laura. Whom I celebrated american thanks giving with, and hung out with almost daily. In Fredrikstad I had some good friends that i knew from before, in Oslo the same And in Tromso I have met some of the best girls ever! We were all/are all still such good friends, and we used to hang out so much and do so many fun things together as a group that I still miss them so much. I guess the only consolation is that most of them have moved on as well now, and play in other cities in Norway.. Here in Sweden I a great group of girls, and I am so happy that a few of them are going to have babies soon so that they will stay home too!

I guess I am rambling on here, but what I am trying to say is that friends, good ones, are hard to come by, and that football is an ever-changing world, with people coming and going left and right. And that I am so happy that we have 3,5 years left of our contract here in Sweden so I actually get to put down some roots! And that I hope that the group of girls that are here get to stay so they can put down some roots with us! And that I love my best friend Amrita so much,

[caption id="attachment_378" align="alignleft" width="250" caption="Amrit and me back in 2003 when we worked together on Hurtigruta"][/caption]



 

 

 

 

 

 

because we don't have to speak every week in order to still start from where we left of last time, or in order for her to still be my very very best friend. I miss her every day and wish that life hadn't put us in two different countries!

I guess my conclusion is :

Cherish your friends old and new, and take care to stay in touch with the ones you love regularly, even if it is just a text message or a quick note on facebook. Don't be afraid to approach new people to make new friends, chances are they have space in their life for one more. And don't take for granted that connection you sometime feel with someone, the one that makes you feel as if you have known them forever even if it has just been an hour. You never know if this person might be one you will still share stories with when you are 75! Take care of your friends!!

End of rambling.

--------

Make sure you check out Game of Thrones, the new big thing from HBO, Amrita plays Irri. I am so proud of her, watch out one day we will go to the Oscars together where she will be nominated for best female actress <3