Game over

The Empire State Building is green and red, two colors Zoe would find boring, but she is not here to complain. Instead I'm hitting the two week mark of her absence where I start really feeling it in my heart. Her pictures around the apartment, her toys still scattered a bit between the bedroom and the shelf in the living room reminding me that she was just here and will be back again. In another two months. Not for long, because her dad informed me today that he wants her to be back in Europe for at least two weeks before she starts school so she can get over her jetlag. Not like something we could talk about or agree about. "I want her back in Stockholm by x date". I am not sure exactly when this whole parenting thing turned from two people trying to agree about what is best for Zoe, to demands and requirements. It is honestly the weirdest thing. And it only adds fuel to my hurting heart, missing her, missing hugging her, chatting to her, reading long chapter books before bedtime and rubbing her back as she falls asleep. She is and will always be my little baby. And being without her is like missing a piece of myself.

If it wasn't enough that I miss her, my life is as messy as it could ever be. Having my visa cancelled out of nowhere was nothing compared to this. On top of having a major life decision in front of me, I'm responsible for coordinating some conference work that will take about 30 hours to do this weekend and be a major chore this summer. And then I have all the work at my second job, which is actually my main job at the moment since they are the only ones providing me with a salary. On top of that I pay too much attention to someone who doesn't deserve it, someone who can't help pay attention to me either, but who should know better. I just want to move on. I just want to have made this decision, to be on the other side, next to Zoe, having pizza on a weeknight and discuss how the stars were made and why her friend in school doesn't speak another language.

I keep concluding that it's game over. That I have been defeated by circumstances and really bad life choices such as who I decided to have a child with. It makes me depressed and sad and incapable of working on anything serious for a while. But then I remember my promise to myself. That I'll never give up. That I *will* one day have that professor job in the US, no matter how much I have to sacrifice. Except I'll not sacrifice any time with Zoe. And this is where I fail again. And again. As her dad satisfactory said to me last time he picked her up: "I have my research group now, this is what I always wanted". I'm so happy for him.

Decisions

Last night was the first time where I just didn't have the strength to explain my situation to yet a new person and simplified things, just telling the newly befriended acquaintance that my daughter went to that particular school in her neighborhood. It stung like crazy when she happily suggested that we might bump into each other in the morning because she always walked her dog down Bedford Street around the time of the school run. It stung because there is no more school run. There is no more chit-chatting to the other parents, getting approached for volunteer activities and then me running off to work, stopping by the bakery for a warm croissant on the way, running back in the afternoon to pick up and take Zoe to dance class. Exactly a week ago I said goodbye to Zoe in the lobby of a hotel, both of us crying and me hurrying out because I just couldn't do another hug.

Most women, mothers or not, even sometimes men, tend to go quiet when I talk about my situation. They first have this "what a great life you have, a great job, a great situation", until it dawn upon them what I have had to give up. And that if I want the career, the success, which is right in front of me now, offering to make up for lost years, I have to give up spending my everyday life with my daughter, the person who means the most to me in this world. And no matter what, I'll spend countless hours (and money) on airplanes to see her for short moments.

"Mommy, I don't understand why it is, but I cry more when I'm with Daddy than when I'm with you. I just get upset a lot", Zoe told me as we walked to school the last day. She had just spent a long weekend with her dad, on holiday. I said I was sorry but didn't know what else to say. To me it is obvious. I don't really have a choice, I know what to do and maybe in another ten years I'll get another chance.

December with Zoe

This morning I handed over a very excited girl to a very happy dad. They were going to Scotland for Christmas and New Years and had clearly missed one another over the past two months. It was impossible to see that the night before Zoe had clung on to me saying over and over again "I don't want to say goodbye to you Mom" while squeezing my arm and kissing my cheeks. She was ready to go and have fun with her dad for a couple of weeks.

This evening I have been drinking two glasses of red wine and explored my parents' bar cabinet while catching up with work and email, just to numb the feeling of that hole in my heart. When a Facebook friend posted a sensible post about how we should think about those not fortunate enough to be with their loved ones this Christmas, I teared up, feeling I was such person, being without Zoe. Except I'm not. I feel guilty and stupid for being sad, because part of my divorce was of course me. I left a hopeless and depressing situation, yet I know for certain that if someone had actually sat me down and explained to me that I would only be with my daughter for half the Christmases throughout her childhood, I would have done things differently. I would have stayed with all the consequences. But of course my thoughts were so different back then that I could not even comprehend what was happening to me.

So here I am, feeling guilty over being sad and missing my adorable 5 year old. But instead of thinking that this is Christmas (my family here is being hugely supportive and doing something very unchristmassy and non-traditional for the next couple of days, just for me), I'll think back to this past amazing December where Zoe and I did a gazillion things together and with others:

• We went to see the Fancy Nancy Christmas musical for kids
• We baked a cake house and decorated it with colored frosting, which took all day
• We went to see a shortened version of the Nutcracker where Zoe still talks about the giant clock that opened up with the toys
• We saw the Christmas windows at Saks one evening
• We went ice skating three times, last time at the Rockefeller Center with the giant Christmas tree above
• We went to paint ceramics with Zoe's new best friend Lisa, where Zoe made a beautiful princess that now has its place in my windowsill
• We went to decorate a gingerbread house with her other friend Chloe
• We bought a small Christmas tree, rolled it home on her scooter and decorated it with the friend above
• We bought Christmas presents for our family in Copenhagen and Zoe wrapped every one of them herself and wrote every single card herself (with my letter guidance)
• We wrote Christmas cards to 5+ friends that Zoe put in the mail box or handed out at school
• We watched A Christmas Carol as musical and went for hot chocolate afterwards

All in all, we have already had a wonderful Christmas and now its her dad's turn. I'll be working until New Years with a glass of red wine (and some marzipan) next to me. 

Swimming gear

I cry over a lot of other things at the moment. I tear up hearing about the refugees from Syria and the people helping them. I get sad over people in the posts from Humans of New York and I cry when I see another little child Zoe's age on the street. I cry over all the little things that are sad, sentimental, except the one thing I really want to cry about.

I called the daycare today to talk to Zoe. I hadn't received any reply to my request to talk to Zoe this weekend, just as last weekend, and it was my only chance to talk to her. She was puzzled and hurried. "Mommy, why are you calling me at daycare again?" I told her the truth and said she could perhaps tell her dad when she wanted to say goodnight to me and call me. He might listen to her, now that he was ignoring me. She told me about how she loved a particular type of toast in the morning and how she was happy about her swimming gear for her doll that I had sent, but sad that her doll couldn't go in the water. She said she missed me and wanted to come back to New York with me. She then said she probably had to go and we said our goodbyes. It was so nice to hear her voice and I was happy that she seemed cheerful.

I'm going back to see her later this month but not sure when she will be able to come back. I'm puzzled why it came to this, why her dad is suddenly deciding over her life when we share custody but after the threats and demands, there is nothing else I can do short of just taking her. Which I would obviously never do. So instead, I try to cry over other things than the one that matters the most in my life.

New Year resolutions

Many years ago I made a "new years resolution" that I was never going to make any promises for the new year because they were only just gonna be broken. I would try to live healthy for two weeks, then back to my usual regular chocolate and too-busy-for-the-gym lifestyle or I would promise to work harder, get up 6 am each morning to write a bit more on an article, only to do it for three days before I got back to snoozing until 7am (I do actually recall two enjoyable weeks where I did get up super early and went into our freezing kitchen our California apartment with a shawl and a cup of coffee to write on a particular paper). But I do better without telling myself that this year will be different, this year will be better because I know I do my best every single day. I do the best that I can do that very day and that might be different for different days, but I rather want to think that I'm good enough, just the way I am. Every day.

But I do wonder how I ended up in such a ridiculous situation as I'm in. I should be excited and happy, I am certainly better off than many others (why do people always say this btw? If I should be happy just because I have a permanent job when many others don't, if I should be happy just because I have a stable place to live when others don't, then when all comes down to it, nobody would be allowed to be unhappy or *strive towards more* unless they were close to starvation with no family or friends. I honestly hate people who tell me I should just be happy with what I got); but I'm terribly unhappy. My brother asked me yesterday if I had any New Years resolutions and I told him, as usual I don't. Instead I have wishes. Wishes for two big things that I hope and pray will come true this year. Two things that will make me happy and make up for all the things I have lost the past couple of years. And no, love is not one of my wishes. I'm nowhere near over my marriage and still wish that we could figure things out. I wish he hadn't given up on me after three months, but that's what I got. It seems to me that guys move on swiftly if there are any problems and never look back.

My New Year wishes will be expensive but I'm not giving up. In fact I have a large printed poster in my living room with those words: Don't give up. I'm bringing the poster to New York.

Home bitter home

I straightened my hair to perfection and put on Dior pale pink on my lips, before gliding into my heeled Tory burch boots. The elevator ride down from 5th gave me just enough time to put in my earphones and turn on a slow beat playlist. Just high enough volume to keep out the reality of Swedish everyday street noises but still low enough to navigate the crosswalks safely. I didn't want to risk anything: my life in traffic OR accidentally listening to Swedish.

I had been back in Stockholm for less than 48 hours before I ventured down that spiral leading to the big black hole that's so hard to get out from. The combination of leaving Zoe with her dad and attending a meeting that illustrated the incompetences within my department all too well just added to the trauma of being back. My friend, whom I confided in over text, tried to make a joke out of it, suggesting I should have a bottle of port in my office drawer. But I had not even managed to get out of the house or even get out of my pajamas, I was still lying face down on my sofa trying to make sense of it all. I was suppose to be happy with things. I have friends here. Except none that I could summon other than to joke with me.

At 4 I was sitting by my computer and had actually sent two emails. The phone rang and Zoe's dad apologized for forgetting that daycare closed early that day. Could I go pick her up?

Zoe was ecstatic to see me and kept saying "my wish came true! I wished mommy would pick me up today!". We went for tea and croissants at our usual bakery where her dad picked her up 45 minutes later to her screaming and crying. "I want mommy, I want mommy". I shed another tear on the way home but managed to work for another 3 hours before going to bed. Next morning I woke up to a grey sense of determinism that I'll get through this.

Welcome home Louise. 

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.  

Happy happy

Two years ago when things were breaking down with Zoe's dad, some of my close friends and friendly acquaintances tried to support me by saying "this is just a phase", it will get better. "It is very hard now but just think of it as a phase". If they had told me things would be just as bad two years later I would probably have done things very differently. I knew it was not going to be a pretty end, but I didn't know it was not going to end. The pain and the confusion. The bouts of depression, the crying over spilt milk. Last night I was out for the third time that week, this time with a large set of colleagues or former colleagues, celebrating another one's birthday. It was a diverse set of people including old friends as well as one of my PhD students. As I teary-eyed tried to explain a friend of mine (who is an amazing listener and has more insights than most other people) how it was difficult for me to be out among old colleagues like this, it almost became too much and I felt nauseous to the level that I worried I was going to get sick. My ex was there too and although we are amicable and had had a nice chat about Zoe's reading and math abilities (she surprised me the other day by reading letters) I wasn't comfortable to say the least. My friend seemed understanding and said that when I was drinking again he would take me out and we could have fun. I tried to get another friend's attention but he was already too drunk, so drunk that when I said goodbye and gave him a hug, he held on too long and confused the hell out of me.

Walking home through the dark, cold streets of Stockholm's Ostermalm where girls are platinum blonde, red lipsticked and short skirted, just tipsy enough to seem happy but still in control, I couldn't help thinking what I had told my ex a couple of weeks ago. That I regret splitting up. If someone had told me what it was going to be like, I had worked more on it, I had not let him give up on me. I would have tolerated the crazy fights and worked harder on the problems. I don't care about nail polish* and I don't care about cooking. I still think people give up on marriage way too easy, but I also think they don't give each other time. Just a bit of time to themselves which is what I needed. I'm bitter and sad and opposite most of my posts here, this one has no positive ending. At least yet. 

*My ex never let me wear nail polish