I've written some really great blog entries at 4am, while I'm awake and nursing Henrik. Too bad you can't read them, as they are only written in my head.
Many of my favorite "ex-pat" bloggers seem to have fallen off the wagon as well and months are going by without updates from them, so I know I'm not alone in struggling to sit down and pound out an entry for my loyal readers. I'd love to tell you my experiences with maternity care in Norway (mostly good, but sparten), my stabs at meeting other new Norwegian mothers and finding my BNFF (Best Norwegian Friend Forever (have chickened out a few times), my 5 year-old daughter whittling with a knife--an activity endorsed by her daycare, a 5-year old birthday party hosted by Pippi Longstocking, and my personal internal struggles over the sleep habits of babies in Norway, including that of my own newborn son (involving napping in a stroller outside). And other funny, light-hearted blog entries about garbage and recycling, the graduating high school students who dress up in red overalls every May, paint color choices for Norwegian homes, and the ubiquitousness of black station wagons. All of these you will some day get to read about, if only I had the time. . .
But, when I sit down to write, I never know if I'm going to have ten minutes or two hours, depending on the still unpredictable napping habits of one young Henrik. And my To Do list includes sorting through boxes of toddler girl clothes that I will now no longer need to hold on to, calling a Serbian nurse who is getting his decision from SAFH over-turned--but in the wrong way, doing my American taxes (yes, I know it's now April 24th), finishing Henrik's baby blanket, and, last but not least, sewing a pair of bunad bukser (Norway's national costume pants) for my dear friend's son, in time for Norway's national holiday on the 17th of May. And, I'll throw in for good measure, my average day includes being the sole source of nourishment for a small human being 24 hours a day, occasionally putting together an evening meal for my family, special laundry loads of poop-stained wool baby clothes, transporting to and from barnehage and also, last but not least, letting the dog in and out of the house TWENTY GAZILLION TIMES BEFORE NOON AND WIPING HER SANDY MUDDY FEET EVERY SINGLE TIME! (But honestly, who can fault her? It's springtime in Norway, and who doesn't want to be outside, soaking up the sunshine, only to realize 10 minutes later that it's really not as warm out as it looks. Even with a fur coat.)
On that note, goodnight. It's 10pm and someone will likely soon be crying out for a little boob time.