This fall I can finally say I’ve been living in Norway for half of my life. Just before turning the big 40, I get to become a mom and it’s a dream come true. I’ve known I wanted to be a mom ever since I was in my teens, but somehow it wasn’t meant to happen until now.
The move is a month away and we’ll be waiting for two more months until this mysterious creature in my womb comes out for the world to love. ❤ These days I’m calling her the boxer since she seems to be throwing punches in my tummy after a good meal or a sweet cup of tea. “Talk to her”, my mother tells me. And so I talk to her, both in Romanian and in Norwegian, I tell her things like “Madde girl, I can’t wait to meet you! You sweet little thing, it must be dark and tight in there.” And she responds by kicking. I don’t know what else to say to her, besides the fact that we love her already, that she was longed for and that she’s our little miracle. And that I hate being pregnant, but I’m doing it for her. ❤
Although I moved away from home at 19 and lived more places than I care to remember since, this one is the Big Move. Not that the apartment in itself is much bigger than the last place I had downtown, in my previous life, but it is definitely more up to date- we’ll have each our own sink in the bathroom and Madde will have her own room from the day she’s born! 😉 Plus the last couple of years we’ve lived in F’s condo and I had to put most of my stuff in a storage box. And boy does it hurt not to have your belongings around when you invest so much feelings in your things. (I know, I should deal with my hoarding problems, but that’s for another entry. ;-))
I took a week off (meaning I decided to say no to potential assignments) in order to move out of my apartment at my own pace. It’s going ok, but not any faster than I feared. On the contrary, it feels like keeping all this junk for so many years is a seldom display of scornfulness against oneself. I found 3 laptops from another era, my parents’ entire harvest of hazelnuts back from 2013 or something, all my curriculum compendiums from who knows when and lots of bits and bobs from when I was a poor student.
Three weeks to go and my apartment will be someone else’s. I haven’t usually been that emotionally tied to the flats I’ve lived in, in fact, I normally can’t wait to move and start over somewhere else. And I haven’t been that youhuu-happy in it, either, still, for one reason or another it’s a really really sad departure.