Teething, a hell of its own.

Some kids go through it without too much whining and pain whilst others go through hell. But as it’s often been said, if you’re going through hell – keep going. So we do.

Mr Pudgy the whale is having a shitty time teething, which translates to even worse days and nights for the mother unit. He’s whining nonstop and clinging onto me as if I’m somehow the cure. I’m not and he knows it but he keeps hoping that being on me while screaming might make things better. And who knows, maybe it does on some level. 

I’m sure you can tell, just by looking, that the pictures above are from his nap time. It’s obvious to see that he has no interest in sleeping, be it day or night. And most people will testify to less sleep during teething but for a child with a severe sleeping disorder this is devastating. Or rather it is that to his mother. His usually incrimental sleep has become even more incrimental and some nights even nonexistent which means no sleep for the mom either. And it’s one thing to not sleep a night and then catch up on your sleep later but after a series of some three nights where the boy has slept a grand total of an hour you are not human anymore.

So a few days ago I had a total breakdown. I spent all night crying along with Erik, wondering how I would pull through. But dawn came and I could see a bit clearer. So I packed up some stuff and took Erik into Stockholm. He slept for two consecutive hours, waking a bit here and there but fell back asleep when rocked.

I obvoiusly didn’t get any sleep but I had some retail therapy. Buying myself a dress, two sweaters and a ring. I also met up with my best friend and had both dinner and fika, while at it. Because if we had stayed at home I might have just spontaneously combusted.

Life as a single parent is hard, especially when your child has a sleeping disorder and there is no money coming in. It’s extra hard when his absetnee father doesn’t sign over custody on you so you’re locked into a place where you can’t even put the child in queue for a spot in a kindergarten. It’s a stressful situation knowing you have the full responsibility but absolutely no rights. But I’m hoping things will change in that arena, soon. I reached out to the boy’s father to sign over custody, today, in bopes that he might do the right thing for once. I have no hopes whatsoever that he will do what’s best for my child but one can always try.

In the meantime I do all I can and then some to ensure that my baby boy has all he could ever want or need. Even with a tremendous lack of sleep, a constant headache and enough stress to kill a normal human being I still trot on. Why? Because I love life. I love living, and each new day brings with it something positive. Something new and worthwhile. My boy is growing, sitting himself up like a pro and getting onto his stomach from a seated position. He’s full of energy and life, and if that doesn’t get you through the day then nothing will.

It is my will to live, my love for life that has gotten me through all the bad stuff. And in the end there is but one thing that controls how you respond to whatever is going on in your life – you and your perception. Change your outlook on life and you’ll realize that you are in fact living in the best of times.

If all else fails get yourself a new dress and a ring. Or whatever makes you equally excited.

But all that shopping aside, waking up to a view like this. Or going for a drive, making Erik laugh, trying new foods, talking to a loved one. Those are the real motivators. All else is gravy.

This. This is what heaven looks like: a happy and healthy boy who has everything he needs. Content. That is absolute heaven to me. All worries just melt away, all tiredness goes out the window. He is my love, my life – my boy.
Campbell of Sweden

Why oh why?

There were many questions when I moved from my fantastic one bedroom apartment in a fancy part of town. The town was Stockholm, the beautiful capital of this country. What I moved to was a bigger one bedroom apartment in a small town, adjacent to Stockholm, called Bålsta. Why would you move to that specific apartment, it’s old – it was said. And I agreed, it is old. And very run down. It hadn’t been cleaned in the five years the previous tenant had lived there.

When we moved in I was in the late stages of pregnancy and couldn’t do much about anything. After delivery Erik had colic, and for four whole months I was glued to him. In his fifth month his father lost his marbles and then followed an almost two month long nightmare that ended that faithful night when the police collected the monster that had terrorized this home. After that the clean-up slowly began. I started remodeling. Moving furniture to how I wanted it. Bought new stuff for Erik and suddenly our home was clean and neat.

It became a proper home for me and my son. A place we can use to its fullest potential. Something we could never do in my old apartment. It was a beautiful brand new apartment. All hardwood flooring, and a fluent floorplan. Barely any doors and none were needed because it was 38 sqm. A pocket sized apartment.

This place is 64,5 sqm. All linoleum floors, that are worn down. The wall paper is old and the kitchen is a 60’s standard issue. But you know what they say, all is not gold that glitters. So hear this.

My worn down floors give both me and Erik room to put scuffs in them without having to pay for any damage done when we move from here. Due to it being linoleum he can take baths in the bedroom where we have two big radiators keeping the room super warm and cozy. The apartment is located on top of a kindergarten which means that after 6 PM there is nobody under us. On the side of the bathroom there is no one making laundry possible late at night, same goes for the dishwasher. I can vacuum at midnight if I so choose without disturbing my neighbors. And speaking of neighbors, they are absolutely awesome. No problems with them what-so-ever. 4 months of colic, Erik has kept everyone up but not one person has complained. No one’s said a word.

So am I sad I made this move? Do I regret it? Not for a single second. It is by far the best decision I have made in terms of living arrangements. We’re about 20 minutes away from Stockholm city center. What is there to complain about? The landlord is great, the doctor’s office is close by, the town center is close too. We have everything we could possibly want or need, and it all comes with an amazing view.

But this is by far the best part of it:

Badpojke

A bath boy in his bathtub smack in the middle of the bedroom. Hard to beat!

Campbell of Sweden

Back to square one…

On Saturday I can start exercising again, or I could but I am going in for a minor surgery in the beginning of September and therefore have to stay away from the weight room still. But somewhere mod or perhaps even at the end of September I will start working out again. My weight is now no longer the issue, it’s the softness of my body aka “the jiggly bits”.

I’ll work from home to begin with. I wish I could say that I’ll be doing it when Erik’s asleep- but let’s face it that is just not how he rolls. So instead I will have Sean take him for a half hour here and there so that I can get myself in order. I’m pretty tired of looking like a jelly donut.

It’s not fair of me to have the little whale hang out in the baby gym and work on his neck strength when I am all weak and plain. So, after my recovery I will get back into a routine. However small and seemingly insignificant, it needs doing. I need to get myself back into shape, for my own sanity. I had a long and fantastic weight loss journey a few years ago, and I refuse to let all that hard work go to waste.

Plus, I need a hobby.

Because this is what I’ve succumbed to. And that’s just not acceptable for anyone, especially not myself.

And here’s a fun picture of Erik sitting up like a big boy in his crib, totally mesmerized by his new mobile.

Mrs. Campbell

Suburbanite dream…

We spent the night at my parents, who live in a house right outside of Stockholm with a partial lake view. It’s a small town with one apartment building, right next to the local store which closes at 5 on weekends and 7 on weeknights. It’s a small town that hosts less than a thousand inhabitants, less than an hour away from our nations capital. And it is like a fairy tale. The house is a bit of a tech heaven due to my parents being fond of new technology and my brother being extremely tech savvy. The place hosts a very smart, curved 55″ tv that you control with your phone, same goes for the lights and the ac. It can all be controlled via the phones. My favorite feauture is their shower that has a built in blutooth surround system so you can listen to your music while in the shower cabin. 

The place is spacious and homey, but it is not my dream. It is close to it but I realized that I will never work in a small town. I love the freedom and the anonymity of a big city. I like not knowing my neighbors and being incognito when I so choose. But the thing is I’m also realizing, as of late, that I may enjoy living in a house. I’ve loved living in a small apartment overlooking other small aparments, and having several neighbors surrounding me but never interacting with. But it’s dawning on me that the small apartment is no longer all that it’s cracked up to be. 

We are two grown people sharing 38 sqm/409 sqft, soon to be three but one miniature one. There is no room for any of our things, you have no privacy and you cannot take a phone call when the other party is asleep without waking them or whispering. So this city mouse is realizing that she may need to go elsewhere, where she may lose some anonymity but gain more space. Because the husband and I can fit in an enclosed space, but little man will need to be able to move about freely. More so than he ever could in our current living quarters. He needs his own space and we will need ours. Not to start off with, but time flies and there’s no need to wait any longer.

That realization, the selflessness is new to me. I’ve been a one man island. I’ve loved having a brand new apartment in a fancy area, where the neighbors are handpicked and there’s no worries even when you (like I did) forget to close the trunk of your car overnight with brand new carpets in it and a winter coat. Nothing was missing. Trunk still open when I stepped outside in the morning. I may never have that again, but instead I can have my own garage and a patch of land in which I can grow veggies and flowers. I can let little man play outside without having to worry about him getting hit by a car. 

I’m slowly coming around to leaving the big city. It’s a process, but I am slowly changing my mind. And who knows, by this time next year I may be writing a post from a house or at the very least a huge apartment in the outskirts of Stockholm. We’ll see how it all progresses.


Mrs. Campbell