Sometimes miracles do happen

When working towards a goal for many years, and it is still not reached, it's not uncommon to lose faith. And at one point you stop talking about it with friends and family, because it is just not that interesting to talk about, to mention yet another failure. That job that you thought was going to happen, that achievement, that one and only person you wanted to meet, fall in love with, it just doesn't materialize. At first the friends and family are encouraging, telling you it will happen. Things will happen and you will reach your goal. Because you deserve it, or because you are worth it. But then their voices vane and you are left with the persistence in your head and nothing else. And it is all up to you to continue the fight. But the thing is, I did. I persisted month after month, method after method. And after almost four years of continuous fertility treatment I finally got pregnant. In fact I'm already 25 weeks tomorrow and have a kicking baby-boy inside my belly, growing and waiting patiently to come out and see his big sister and his mom by the beginning of the summer.

It was an emotional roller-coaster from the day I realized my period was not coming and that I should probably skip the beer I had just been offered. I was in chock for a week, before I took the test, watching the two lines appear and then another week later told my mom and Zoe, watching their tears of joy. I was hesitant to tell anybody else and I was hesitant to feel secure in my pregnancy. I prayed to god every evening that he would protect me and the little growing miracle inside of me. If something takes so long, it can't be real, can it? It was not until week 14 where I started thinking it is very likely that there will come a baby out of this in the end. I might actually have a second child. Zoe will finally have a little sibling. Meanwhile she takes it with the ease of a 6 year old, randomly holding my belly, putting her ear to it and getting kicked in her hand. "It's a foot, I can feel a foot!" she says excitedly and starts talking to him. "I'm your big sister and I can't wait until you come out and we can play." I'm hoping that she understands how boring babies are initially and how much time her mom needs to spend with the baby at first. But I did, those many years ago when I got a little brother, so I'm sure Zoe will be just fine. I'm cautiously optimistic.

With my growing belly comes a lot of new issues into play that I've spent the better part of my days and nights pondering. I'll share some of them here as time moves on, but right now I realized that I cannot continue chronicling Flybaby without sharing the most important news in our lives, that there will soon be a Flybaby II.

Calculations

As I was walking down West 20th street with music blasting into my ears, towards my new job (yes, I got an amazing new fun extra job which will not only pay the bills but also give me industry experience), 8:30 in the morning, I tried to do a happiness calculation. It should be no news to anyone around me that, to put it plainly, I hate Sweden and I love New York. But New York comes with a few consequences, among others a lot of complications regarding Zoe. But in this calculation I considered only my own happiness:

• When with Zoe in New York I'm 100% happy, no matter my job or having a boyfriend as long as I can pay my bills
• When in Sweden with Zoe I'm 70% happy but goes down to 50% when having to deal with my job (and no, I cannot just get another job, as an academic you can't just get a professorship at another university, which btw would matter zip since they are all intertwined in terms of colleagues anyway)
• When in Denmark with Zoe I'm 80% happy but I don't know anything about working there 

• When in New York without Zoe I'm 50% miserable going up the longer I'm away with a 6 weeks max
• When I'm in Sweden without Zoe I'm 90% miserable with the 10% being my one good friend there
• When I'm in Denmark without Zoe I'm 60% miserable but I don't know anything about working there

Living in New York right now gives me 50% with Zoe but when she starts school in Sweden next year her dad is only allowing me to have her here for 4 months out of the year, which equals holidays plus a bit of extra (I guess). To see her for 50% I will have to spend 2 months in Sweden. That model would then give me (70% happy x 2 months +100% happy x 4 months) + (50 % miserable x 6 months) = 5.4 months happiness + 3 months misery.

Living in Sweden would give me 50% of time with Zoe, probably one week/one week. That model would then give me (70% happy for 6 months) + (90% miserable x 6 months) = 4.2 months happiness + 5.4 months misery.

The last model is complicated, it involves me working in Denmark but living in Sweden because Zoe has to go to school there. But I would be able to be in Denmark when I don't have her. I would probably be able to have her for max half a week per month in Denmark due to school. This would then give me: (70% happy x 5 months + 80% happy x 1 month) + (60% miserable x 6 months) = 4.3 months happiness + 3.6 months misery. This model also includes a crazy commute for me with an hour flight twice a week at least. Not something sustainable beyond a couple of years.

New York wins hands down in both more happiness and less misery. As I walked through the revolving doors into the elevator lobby, I let the results sink in. Before I got off on 6th floor I had texted a colleague/friend of mine the words I knew he would get immediately "I'm in."

Wonderful day

It was our last day in New York for this time and as I watched Zoe drift off to sleep, her arm around my neck, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world, having all of this. The last thing I had said to her before saying goodnight was that I hoped we would have many more Sundays like this.

I woke up much earlier than her, making coffee and eating half a bagel while reading, before I heard a little voice "mommy?" from the bed. We got up and while Zoe painted using her new water-based crayons, she had an idea. "Mommy, I have an idea! We can go and get nail polish on our feet!" I hesitated and said we probably didn't have time but the look on her face signified that this was a priority. We hurried down and into the nail place half a block down. I could have swore, my whole child-free life, that I would never ever take my under-14 daughter to a nail place but now that I have a daughter and she is very aware that I paint my nails (I hate to make excuses but I actually have a condition that makes all my nails look very rough without polish, which is why I like to cover them up. A bit like if you have uneven skin color and try to help it with foundation), I think it would be silly to make it into something 'forbidden'. Also, it was cheaper to take her than to go on my own while paying for a babysitter, *and* we got to spend some nice time together. We sat in adjoining chairs and chatted, her laughing uncontrollably with each strange thing happening: Why does she put cream on? That's yucky, why does she put paper in-between my toes? It tickles! We ran home just in time for the babysitter to meet us at the door. He got a happy whine from her (how am I so lucky to find someone she just instantly likes?) and I rushed out the door. I managed to exchange my iPhone cover at the Kate Spade store (who exchanged a broken one immediately without any questions) and sat down at a SoHo pastry cafe for two hours of funding proposal editing. On the way home I managed to pick up bagels and tomatoes.

Zoe dancing after getting new sunglasses

The afternoon was still young when the baby-sitter left, giving both Zoe and me a big hug, me hoping he would become a more stable person in her life. We took off for some last SoHo exploring. At the Piccolini shop she played and looked around for half an hour before finally asking if she could have the animal doctor dress-up set. I asked if that was really the one thing she would like and agreed. At the counter she picked up the very same sunglasses that I had considered buying for her two months ago but wasn't sure she would fit, and surprise, they fit her perfectly. She proceeded to take the floor, dancing to the Beyonce that the store owner turned up. None of us could stop laughing until we finally exited the store, heading for food.

We sat down at Jacque, where Zoe could get french fries and I could get chardonnay. She immediately tried on her veterinarian kit and played doctor with the toy dog until turning to inject me with various medical concoctions (this is good for you, it will make your polka spots go away!) and telling me my temperature was way too high. The older couple next to us asked politely where we were from and I sighed silently before giving a simple story: We are Danish but go here all the time. Zoe is also American. The guy started a long story about him visiting Copenhagen in the early 70s and Zoe got mad at me for not giving her any attention. When we later talked about it, I told her that it is polite to listen to people you don't know and then you sometimes ignore the ones you know. It's all about pleasing people you don't know because the people you know they already like you. But I realized that made no sense and I apologized and thought I would do it differently next time.

On the way home we passed by gimme coffee; I got an almond latte and she got a glass of water. We sat on the bench outside and just chilled and talked. "I wish this could be every sunday", I told her and she said the inevitable. "But what about daddy?" "Hmmm" was my answer.

As I  was packing up our things while she watched Danish kids TV later, my mind started wandering down to that dark place that has filled my head and heart for too much of the past two years. It's exactly two years since he told me it was over. If I didn't move back in at that point, there was no way back. And I knew I couldn't at that time. Perhaps later, but not at that moment. I was finally having a bit of independence and enjoying my life in it's own right, I needed that after what I had been through. But I didn't need to split up Zoe's family. And that's when he stopped talking to me. Other than emails with information about Zoe and polite coffees where he seems like he is about to leave the whole time, he hasn't talked to me since. Eight years of relationship and three months was what I got. As I folded each piece of clothing I tasted pieces of the bitterness. The new girlfriend that Zoe had told me about (not him), leaving me depressed for several months, sitting on the kitchen floor crying silently so Zoe wouldn't notice. The thought that Zoe will grow up split between two parents. The ultimate goal that I cannot talk about yet. The fact that as much as I like guys and think there are many sweet versions out there I can't imagine ever getting into a serious relationship again. I just can't trust anyone like that again.

I squeezed my shoes into the suitcase but didn't attempt to close it. "Time for bed", I heard myself say and Zoe surprisingly said okay. After some vague toothbrushing, we snuggled up in the bed together. What a wonderful day I thought and felt like the luckiest woman in the whole world having all of this.  

Where are we going?

One morning a couple of weeks ago, Zoe woke up and decided to pack. She took our little car suitcase (that she think is her own, despite me sometimes traveling with it myself) and started pulling her clothes down from the shelf, putting it inside. When she thought she had enough she zipped it up and pulled it through the living room into the hallway. There she put on her sandals and took down the keys from the hook, which she can reach herself. She then asked me to take her jacket and sun hat down, which I did and she put both on by herself. Then she 'unlocked' the front door with the keys (it was already unlocked), opened the door and said 'bye bye mommy', while pulling the suitcase out to the stairwell. At this point I had to stop her because fact was that we were not going anywhere that day, and I was seriously worried she was going to try to pull the suitcase down the stairs. But she cried as I explained that we were not going flying or even by train, this was a regular daycare day. It took me a few minutes to make this clear but finally she calmed down and we continued our regular morning routine.

Zoe leaving again

Although this might seem like a fun morning game, I felt guilty and sad because I knew exactly why she was leaving and why she thought this was just one of our routine travels: a week before this, I had moved out from our family home, into a small apartment close by, without Mark. I had taken Zoe with me but she would also go back and stay with Mark for a few days in a row. This might come as a surprise and I have not been very open about our difficult situation, not here, not to anyone in real life apart from my closest friends. But fact is that we have had serious relationship problems since we moved to Sweden, problems that got worse over the winter and culminated in April. It took me a long time to talk to Mark about how unhappy I have been with my situation and how much I felt he was not considering this or even realizing this, but it only took me a couple of weeks from then, till I decided to move out. I felt this was the only way I could gain back the independence that I had given up and missed sorely after we moved to Sweden. It was never my choice to move here in the first place and my work situation was horrible, but at the same time I didn't feel that Mark took this serious. My lack of integration and engagement with swedish people and the language is clear evidence of this. In some ways I didn't feel this place was real.

Moving a 2 year old for the 4th time in her life feels tough but splitting up her parents feels terrible. The guilt sucks me in every time Zoe wants something and I give in very quickly. She mainly sleeps in my double bed where I stroke her hair until she falls asleep instead of putting her in her travel crib and let her fall asleep on her own, which she used to do. I let her decide if we should eat inside at the table or outside on the balcony, even if that means moving mid-meal. But apart from her thinking we travel and move every week, she seems to deal with it well. She has not had any temper tantrums out of the ordinary and she does not cry and ask for me (or her daddy) at night. And Mark and I are amicable and settled on doing this in a way that she is the least affected by. We have two rules: One rule is that we make sure to do something all three of us one day a week. Today for example, I came over with breakfast and we went for a long walk through the city, after which we went for early dinner at a nice italian place. We went back and I gave Zoe a bath before Mark put her to bed. Rule number two is that we are working towards staying together, not splitting up. I might have needed to be by myself for a while, be independent and have my own life, but neither of us really wants out. We are planning a date next week and I hope that will lead to more couple stuff and eventually me moving back in. I try to stay optimistic. But right now, Zoe is of the belief that we move every 4-6 months because that is all she knows.