a feathery *nest

The rest of 2016 (and the beginning of 2017)

2017-01-26T21:24:00.000+01:00

I've been away for so long that it took me a few minutes to remember my username and password to log in and even longer to remember how to upload a photo and write a post here. Given my absence, I let the domain renewal slipped by unaddressed (so there'll be lots of dead ends if you click through the archives) and speaking of those archives, they seem to have been attacked by spam, so be forewarned that some tasteless sites may pop up.

Anyway, here's what we've been up to since I last posted:

We spent a month at the beginning of fall in New York (with a day-long stopover in Iceland) to celebrate birthdays, weddings, and RF's baptism. And I have to say, after our 5-week-vacation-but-not-entirely in Sicily with a baby over the summer, it took some doing to prepare myself for the slog to the U.S.

But, we made it—eventually. And then we spent our trip catching up with friends and family, avoiding the subway as much as humanly possible (it seems to have gotten even more icky since we left...or else we've just become pampered by Stockholm's much cleaner one), eating lots of Mexican food, revelling in the ease and economics of ordering English-language baby books, yarn and spirits online and having them delivered right to our door to take back to Sweden with us, and enjoying some of the many other conveniences of being on that side of the Atlantic.

I also continued to work part-time while we were there, since the job I started in August is with a company that has an office in Manhattan.

When we came back to Stockholm in the middle of October we had a few visitors and then spent the rest of fall and early winter gearing up for our big move...

...to a house! We bought it the week we left for NYC (making the pre-trans-Atlantic-trip days even more chaotic and celebratory).

It took three bidding shenanigans before we came out the "winners" but the relief at having finally secured a permanent place for us to live so we could avoid the Swedish nomad syndrome made us quickly forget the ordeal.

As the year wound down I began working a few more days a month, we bought a car (since we were moving out to what could technically be classified as "the countryside") and we prepared for RF's first birthday party (!!!) and another Christmas at our place with family from New York and Sicily joining us.

Since we had already started to pack, though, it was going to be a bit more of a low-key, minimalistic holiday than last year, but when I woke up on the 24th and drowsily headed to the kitchen, I ran smack into a tree that R had brought home the night before while I was sleeping. So, it was a festive and cheery Christmas after all.

Then came the first week of the new year and a huge snowstorm—which made moving with a walking one-year old quite the adventure.

But we're slowly getting settled into our new home in the country (it's an hour-long commute on public transit from the city, about 40 minutes by car...and 25 by motorcycle). I haven't lived in a two-story house since my childhood in Virginia and while I love the separation between living areas, it's taking some getting used to climbing up and down stairs all day. Other than the daily burn in my legs (and a teensy twinge of anxiety over being "isolated", since I can't drive the car (legally) right now and we're no longer in walking distance from anything, really), I love, love, love being in a house again and knowing that it's ours.

Our little place is situated on the edge of a large forest so we've got a ton of privacy and have traded in our water views/proximity and sailboat sounds (which I've had for a decade now) for birdcalls and birch and pine trees as far as we can see. I can already imagine tromping through the woods with RF on the hunt for sticks, pinecones, bird feathers and wild flowers, just as I used to do when I was little.

So that's what's been keeping us busy recently. How are you? (Assuming there's still someone left checking this site...).

I hope as we settle into our new routine (and if RF ever gets around to sleeping through the night on a regular basis) I'll be able to pop in here a little more regularly, but no promises.

This summer

2016-09-01T20:55:00.001+02:00

I hadn't planned to stop posting for quite so long—but, it happened anyway. So here's a quick recap of the last few months:

The summer began with an extended vacation in Sicily, although, I use "vacation" lightly, as turns out that taking a 6-month-old baby to a "foreign" country during a heat wave and mosquito infestation isn't exactly relaxing (do you know how much gear a baby at the beach requires?). But, off we went and got our fill of sun and gelato and seafood and we even (somehow) managed to fit in a road trip.

We spent a week driving around the island, first renting a house on the northern coast in Scopello and then on the southern coast in Marina di Ragusa. The rest of our 5 weeks were spent in R's hometown, introducing RF to his Sicilian family and R's childhood haunts.

When we returned with our 23094820394 pieces of luggage, I would have loved to relax a bit and enjoy a truly spectacular Swedish summer (warm, sunny, and hallelujah, no humidity!), but we jumped right into house hunting because nothing has changed on the crazy Swedish real estate market front and as our apartment rental contract is ending soon, we decided we needed to get serious about buying so we wouldn't have the stress of possibly being kicked out at any time weighing down on us. So rather than spend days picnicking on the waterfront for the last few weeks of R's paternity leave, we borrowed a car to explore neighborhoods and visit open houses that coincided with RF's nap time.

Then, as if that wasn't enough to keep us from lazing about this summer, I went back to work part-time just as RF turned 8 months old and could be away from me for longer periods of time (a concept that was simultaneously liberating and devastating), and now both R and I each work part-time and stay home to take care of RF part-time, which we'll hopefully be able to continue doing until it's time for our little munchkin to start förskola/dagis (pre-school) next spring.

And that—with walks, fika's, baby playdates, baby-proofing the house to keep our crawling / standing / cruising little guy safe, a bit of knitting here and there, and the return of cocktail hour—was our summer. How was yours?

Untethered

2016-05-25T14:39:00.000+02:00

There were times at the beginning of this year when I really thought I had lost my mind.

A newborn baby and no sleep for days during the depths of a Swedish winter (which I had naively thought would be "cozy" with a cuddly wee one, but was actually debilitating and isolating), plus some physical problems we were having all combined into a Very Heavy and Overwhelming Period.

But then the combination of surpassing (and barely surviving) RF's 4-Month Sleep Regression, his ability to space out his mealtimes, his increased curiosity and awareness of the world around him (so much so that we did an early switch from the carry cot to the sit-up seat attachment of his stroller), and springtime finally rolling around meant that we were finally free to go on long, beautiful walks around the city with a contented baby and a less-stressed mamma who no longer had to constantly search for suitable places to nurse (and change diapers) in anticipation of a hungry baby's wails.

And let me tell you, this period right now is so, so good. Most days the sun is shining brilliantly and it's a delightful 70F outside, meaning we've been spending hours and hours walking, meeting friends, fika'ing, and playing outside the walls of our apparently very-boring-to-a-baby apartment.

Plus, this lovely weather means al fresco nursing and diaper changes are a breeze and has greatly reduced my anxiety when we're away from home. Below the stroller I've stashed blankets, toys, a bottle of water and an emergency chocolate bar (because you just never know), so we're always ready to stretch out in a patch of sun-dappled shade to play and relax in between running errands and strolling around the city.

We've been taking long walks along the edges of Kungsholmen, across the bridge to the grounds of the Karlbergs Castle park / Military Academy near Saint Eriksplan, all around Djurgården, winding through Vasastan, Odenplan (with obligatory stops at Cafè Pascal), and Norrmalm, and even hopping on a bus to go to Drottningholm, one of the palaces, to play on some royal grounds.

And much like our after-work pizza picnics in Vasapark last summer, this year we're doing a riff on that with early afternoon (because of someone's bedtime) barbecues in our backyard in Minneberg.

All this to say, someone's starting to get her groove back.

(Said groove will probably not be completely back until someone else starts sleeping for more than 2.5 hours in a row at night, but a partial groove is better than no groove at all.)

One year ago: Leaving Vasastan & An unwelcome lull & 365 days ago

Two years ago: An amuse-bouche & The sound of silence & Standing savasana
Three years ago: "I am here" days & A taste of spring & Mamela

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The day I became an Italian citizen

2016-05-12T21:58:00.000+02:00

My (at times excruciatingly) long journey to becoming an Italian / E.U. citizen is finally complete—a few days ago we went to the Italian Consulate on Djurgården so I could pledge my allegiance to the Italian Republic and officially become one of her citizens.

At the end of last year, three and a half years after I applied for citizenship, a certified letter arrived with the news that citizenship had been conferred upon me and I just needed to do a few final things to make it officially official, like, re-submitting translated and notarized documents from U.S. agencies that were included in my original application (yes, again), swearing my oath, and (naturally) paying another fee.

When R became an American citizen, he did so with a certain amount of pomp and circumstance (which I enjoyed in my exhausted and anxious state)—to be fair, he took his oath along with about a hundred other people in America.

I became an Italian citizen while living in Sweden and did so in a "ceremony" just for me.

The ceremony being: arriving at a very, very sad little building where nary an Italian flag was waving, waiting for one hour past our scheduled appointment time to be ushered up a rickety pair of stairs to an office filled with boxes of documents and lined with shelves of rubber stamp doohickeys, and reading the one-line oath off of a printout twice (as it took two separate tries to assemble the required number of witnesses).

That was it.

No Italian paraphernalia. No anthems. No miniature flag handed to me on my way out (R received a miniature American one in NYC and RF received one here in Stockholm when we took him to the US Consulate to register him as an American citizen).

When we walked out of the gloomy building, not even the gorgeous day on Djurgården (one of my favorite places in Stockholm) and RF's adorable drool-y smile as he looked up at us happily from his stroller could shake me out of the funk brought on after such a long-awaited day ended up being so disappointing.

But then R told me he had booked a celebratory lunch for us at Villa Godthem on the northern side of Djurgården, where we had a tasty, typically-Swedish lunch on the waterfront (which included the gifting of a very nice little gift). Afterwards we strolled across the lane to Flickorna Helin & Voltaire for dessert on the terrace (which was obviously a ridiculous slice of their decadent carrot cake for me).

Then, since the day was just so supremely sunny and beautiful (and because I had stashed you-never-know blankets in the stroller), we laid them out under a tree with a view of my favorite villa on Norra Djurgården and spent the rest of the afternoon lolling about lazily while watching RF practice his rolling over skills.

Turns out I had my very own personal Italian(s) to provide me with all the fanfare italiano I so desperately wanted.

One year ago: Moving to Minneberg & A pre-emptive unwinding at sea

Two years ago: The things I'll miss most about NYC & the U.S. & Brighton Beach walk
Three years ago: Snowy deliberations & Beating the winter blues

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Stitch by stitch

2016-04-15T08:19:00.000+02:00

While some things have noticeably gone missing from my daily routine—and will most likely stay missing for quite some time to come—since this handsome fellow arrived (e.g., I haven't done any yoga since just before I gave birth and a proper cocktail is a distant memory...as is a full night of sleep), one thing that has resurfaced is my knitting bag.

With the mental fogginess and physical exhaustion that comes with caring for a wee, helpless, and infinitely adorable baby, knitting is my only form of "meditation" right now—a more involved alternative to my calming (and frantically-executed on steamy NYC subway platforms) practice.

It's my (very necessary) way of taming the frazzled, sleep-deprived brainwaves jolting through my mind. Of rinsing the day's small trials and losses of patience from my conscience while replaying its spectacular moments of delight in baby laughs and gummy smiles, in a rounded tummy and a sweet little tush.

Stitch by stitch, breath in by breath out.

It's also much easier to manage than rolling out my yoga mat and contorting myself into positions that are now precarious thanks to my new lack of coordination (thanks to my new lack of sleep).

Rather than sitting on the sofa after dinner while watching something with R and knitting away as I used to, I find my crafty moments during the day when RF is napping snugly in a wrap tied around my chest and I can peer over the curve of his cheeks to see what I'm doing. It's the coziest thing to listen to his little snuffles while I rock back and forth and click my needles in rhythm.

I came across this recently and it perfectly encapsulates why, aside from ensuring a small measure of sanity for myself, I knit:

"For many knitters, the small act of creating a sock, a hat, or a scarf is an act of love. Of community. Of creativity, of soul saving, sometimes a rebellion against the constraints of everyday life. Knitting is an escape, a haven, a hidey hole that restores us and gives us a bit of control when many things in life are beyond our reach."

As does this:

"The essential thing about knitting that I will never get over is here you have these sticks and this string, and then you look down and you have this object. It’s a very small act of hope, especially when the person you’re knitting for isn’t even here yet."

It's true, I can't control when we'll find a new, more permanent place to live or when RF will learn to connect his sleep cycles or where we'll be able enroll him in dagis. But I can choose the right needles and yarn and pattern, and I can choose to spend a few quiet moments at the end of the day with yarn gliding through my fingers as I create something from nothing—my own small act of hope that all will be well.

Lately I've been working on a little "spring collection" for my winter baby, although I think it will begin and end with these two pieces. I've realized after much newborn knitting that perhaps it's better to knit garments for a baby that can sit up and crawl, or for a toddler that can toddle, because knits (even non-bulky ones), aren't as easy to maneuver onto a baby and when said baby is picked up and carried quite a bit or spends most of his time prostrate, thicker textiles that can bunch up is probably a little irritating for him, as well as for the person who is constantly tugging his clothes into place.

...Which is why I had the idea to knit a onesie, but even so, I'm going to start knitting a few sizes up from now on and have a nice little wardrobe ready for him for this coming autumn and winter.

P.S. The onesie was originally a romper, as seen in the first picture, but I didn't like how the shorts legs looked when I finished so I unraveled the hem and reknit it as a onesie (as seen in the second picture).

P.P.S. Ravelry notes here and here.

One year ago: The infamous Swedish laundry room & Postcard from Istanbul

Two years ago: The things I won't miss at all about NYC & the U.S. & How today looks
Three years ago: So worth it & Banished from the bedroom & An extension

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Straddling three countries

2016-04-11T08:27:00.000+02:00

If figuring out our own citizenship requirements for each others' countries wasn't enough, we had to go through the same procedure for RF (which I've been mentally preparing for...for a while), albeit a much simpler one, as he automatically took our three nationalities at birth.

The Swedish registration was done for us via the baby's birth center registration, and the Italian one just required taking one form, one notarized document from the tax office and a copy of our passports to the consulate, but the American one? That required an entire folder of documents, plus a hefty fee.

When I looked into it last fall and saw what my birth country required, I began putting everything together well before my due date so all we would have to do in our newborn haze was take a picture of the baby and make a few appointments, and so before he was three months old he was already officially registered as a citizen of the US, Italy and Sweden, and had his American and one EU passport ready to go.

I had thought that that would be the most strenuous thing I'd need to think through this year, but then it came time to begin his vaccinations and I realized our little tri-national baby would need a modified vaccine schedule.

Before Sweden began attracting such high numbers of foreigners, this country was fairly isolated, so the vaccine schedule wasn't (and still isn't) as wide-reaching as the U.S. and Italy's. Given that we plan on spending time in both of those countries, and with family that live in them that will be visiting us here in Sweden, I went through each one's vaccine schedule to figure out what we needed for RF.

During his regular (free) appointments with the baby nurse, he's already getting the Swedish schedule of vaccines, which is the same as both the U.S. and Italy's, with two exceptions: chickenpox/varicella (which the U.S. gives around 12 months, and Italy much later, during pre-teen/teenage years) and meningitis (the U.S. gives the A, C, W, and Y strains during teenage years unless a risk factor calls for an early dose, and Italy does the same with the C strain).

Sweden generally has a low risk for meningitis so the vaccine isn't part of the schedule; and the thinking here is that children shouldn't get the chicken pox vaccine, but rather get infected with the virus and heal from it on their own when they're young.

But we want to get RF vaccinated on the early side because of his exposure to Americans and Italians that have been vaccinated and because we've had a meningitis scare (in Sweden!) in the family—and also because we've decided that when it's time, we'd like to send him to one of Stockholm's international dagis (daycare), where the primary language spoken is English and the children that attend are generally from expat families (and will have been vaccinated against chicken pox and meningitis, for the most part).

The vaccines that are not included in the Swedish schedule seem to be easy to get on one's own—all throughout Stockholm there are standalone vaccine clinics (I'm assuming that given all the international travel that Swedes do there's a pretty big need), one of which we'll be heading to around RF's first birthday to get his supplemental vaccines.

Speaking of dagis, even though RF is only a few months old, we've already started looking into them, because like the crazy housing situation in Stockholm, the dagis queue is just as frustrating.

The way it works here is that children are eligible to begin daycare when they're a year old, but they can be put in the queue to enter their chosen dagis as soon as they hit 6 months—and most people generally still have to wait a few months (or years) to get into the school they want even though they'll be guaranteed a place somewhere in their city within 2 months.

Like in other Scandinavian countries, the concept of a full-time, stay-at-home-parent for all of a child's childhood is very uncommon in Sweden—most parents return to work at least part-time by the time their child is 2 years old so the dagis world is something nearly every parent in Sweden experiences. To encourage parents to stay in the workforce, dagis is very affordable—parents pay a percentage of their income up to a max of about $150 a month for the first child (and progressively less for each subsequent child).

While it translates to "daycare", dagis is really more like pre-school in that they all adhere to a pedagogical style (Reggio Emilia, Montessori, Waldorf, etc.) and children learn social and mobil skills and about the world around them—but the emphasis is not on reading (in fact, most children here don't learn to read until they're 7 or 8), but rather on how to function in the world. The kids learn about other cultures (a big reason why we want RF to go to an international school—there's a larger focus on this), table manners, how to share, and about nature (a LOT of time is spent outdoors, regardless of the weather).

Children can attend dagis from one year of age until they're 5 years old, and then there's the option to do a preparatory pre-school year at age 6 to get ready for compulsory schooling, which begins at age 7 with the equivalent of the U.S.'s first grade.

While we haven't figured out the daycare situation for RF just yet, I'm completely in awe of what I've seen so far of the system that's in place here.

One year ago: Blue skies along Norr Mälarstrand & An afternoon in Uppsala

Two years ago: Some news & The waiting game...and spilt milk
Three years ago: Grays & Tape, red or otherwise & The mean reds

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Tootsie toppers

2016-03-07T14:53:00.001+01:00

After I bound off the final stitch on the last knit goodie I'd planned to make for RF before his appearance, I decided to spend the last few weeks of my pregnancy making something for myself. I'd stopped in at two local yarn stores near Odenplan on the hunt for a particular shade of red for a gift, but rather than leave empty handed when I didn't find what I was looking for, I was enticed by a beautiful, variegated alpaca yarn (on sale) and a teensy pair of double-pointed knitting needles made specifically for knitting socks.

As so often happens, I gave into the temptation of something new (the yarn and the needles) and managed to forget that I don't particularly like knitting socks. They can be a bit tedious because when you finally finish one, there's still another whole sock to do. And while I've knit the kind of socks you use as slippers at home, I'd never knit proper socks to wear with shoes, which are finer and more delicate (and thus take more time when using teeny needles).

But forget all of that I did, and I scooped up a hank of the alpaca yarn and a new pair of needles and made my way home where I cobbled together my own pattern using one person's broken seed stitch pattern, another's interesting heel technique, and Purl Soho's general guidelines from their Pixel Stitch socks.

I managed to get 1.5 socks done before RF's grand appearance, and needless to say, the insanity that is life with a newborn means that I didn't get around to that last half a sock until recently.

Luckily Stockholm has been cooperating with the continuation of winter weather into March so there was/is still time for me to to make use of them this year and I have to say—hand knit wool socks (even ones with a few cosmetic irregularities here and there where I made mistakes but didn't have the patience to fix them) feel amazing inside winter boots.

(Amazing feeling aside, I don't think I'll be making another pair anytime soon.)

Once I'd finished these I needed a quick hit—something easy, fun and interesting to knit so I could recover from the monotony of those socks. Enter RF, who had finally put on enough weight to be able to wear the POOPS! cloth diapers we'd purchased from a local Swedish company for him.

Even though he's now big enough to wear them without fear of leakage, he's still small enough that we have to button them on at the smallest setting, which creates quite a bit of bulk around his tush and makes comfortably wearing the pants for his actual size a bit tough. So rather than cram him in his pants (and since we're still using disposables when we're out for long periods of the day), I realized I could keep him pantless at home if I knit some legwarmers to pop on his little legs.

I found a pattern for boot cuffs that I repurposed into legwarmers and voilà, comfy and warm and cabled while still being pantless.

(Note: those legwarmers are actually worn higher on the leg, but I didn't pull them up all the way so his tickle-able thighs could be in the picture.)

P.S. Ravelry notes: socks + legwarmers

One year ago: A collection of memories & Surviving a Scandinavian winter's darkness

Two years ago: Prescription: a bright, sunshiny day & When it rains
Three years ago: Libraries: both literary and libationary & Signing on a new dotted line

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A Sunday on the farm at Resta Gård

2016-03-03T11:54:00.000+01:00

I've long had an affinity for rich, farm-fresh milk in (reusable) glass bottles, but the closest thing I've found in Sweden to my beloved Hudson Valley Ronnybrook Creamline milk, which is pasteurized, but not homogenized, so the cream rises lusciously to the top, is lantmjölk, or gammaldagsmjölk (country and old-fashioned milk, respectively). But the most accessible one is from the biggest dairy supplier, which is not inherently a bad thing at all, I just find the notion of drinking local milk to be so much more romantic.

So when we were wandering through Gamla Stan in January and came across Resta Gårdsbutik, the city outpost of a farm an hour north of Stockholm, I was intrigued. The urban storefront is teeny, but beautifully set up with inviting chalkboard signs outside proclaiming lovingly-grown produce and milk and meat from well-cared for animals. We stepped inside and after one sip of their milk (and one glance at the beautiful glass bottles), we bought one to take home.

We were so enamored with the charming experience in Gamla Stan that we Googled the actual farm to find that not only is it an ecological farm, but a visitable one, too, so we began to plot when we could make it up for their weekend open hours, especially after seeing all their cozy homespun pictures and posts on Instagram and Facebook.

One gorgeously sunny Sunday work schedules and transportation availability aligned and we were finally able to make the drive up to visit the farm. We wandered around the property, accompanied by the owners' dog for a bit, and said hello to the sheep, the pigs, the piglets and the horses. The farm has only been up and running for a very short time, but the owners told us that they're already planning big things in the coming seasons (including hens, a B&B, etc.) for the property, which is nestled among open fields an easy drive from Stockholm.

After visiting the animals and walking about we tucked ourselves into the small farmhouse shop to purchase korv (sausages) to roast over the open fire pit that had been lit outside. An afternoon spent with our faces turned toward the (surprisingly blazing!) sun, munching on piping hot sausages and listening to the livestock nuzzle around was the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon—and a lovely first excursion out of Stockholm for our little guy. We drove away completely refreshed from our romp in the country air—and with a trunk full of sausages, cuts of meat, and bottles of milk to take home.

One year ago: Stockholm's snow angels & Snowy contentment

Two years ago: Winter, post-twinkly lights & The beginning of a yearning
Three years ago: Sybaritic weekend & Pioneering in a chilly city

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Giving birth in Sweden: Labor, delivery, and the cost

2016-02-12T11:58:00.000+01:00

Now that our little guy is just over two months old, I've finally had a little time (and brain power) to think back on giving birth to him with something less akin to panic and more akin to fondness.

I mentioned before that I didn't put too much thought or preparation into the particulars of going through labor and delivering, but there were a few things that I wanted to have happen, namely, the use of water therapy, the avoidance of medical intervention, and no need for stitches (all of which I've been thinking about for many years).

Instead? No bathtub, lots of medical (read: chemical) intervention, and: stitches.

+ + +

My contractions began the evening of the day after my due date, but we didn't go to the birthing center until 24 hours later, after I had been experiencing contractions at home for an entire day. I had been in contact with the midwives at the birthing center ever since I first saw signs of impending labor, which happened 15 hours prior to my contractions starting, and we stayed in contact until I was finally told to come in.

I first called them (excitedly!) at 4AM when I lost my mucous plug—they talked me through what would happen next and how to manage the latent phase contractions when they started. Since my labor progressed so slowly, we ended up calling them quite a few times (each time a little less excitedly and a bit more frantically) before actually going in, and each time a patient, supportive woman reassured me and—thinking back on this now makes me a little emotional—made sure to tell me that I was strong and doing great.

Even after 24 hours of contractions had passed, they were still not close enough (i.e., 3-5 minutes apart, mine were 7-9 minutes apart) to warrant leaving the house, but when we called the midwives (again) to update them on my condition, they suggested I come in to be checked given how tired I said I felt and how far away I still was from active labor.

We called a taxi, grabbed our bag and headed in around 10PM. A midwife greeted us and did an exam, after which she related the (frustrating) news that I was only 2 cm dilated—you aren't admitted until you're at 4 (out of 10 cm) dilated, but I couldn't face the thought of going home as I was exhausted and nervous because of how slow my labor was advancing and R knew that, so he spoke with the midwives on call and they allowed us to spend the night in the "new family hotel", even though we were clearly not yet a 2+ family.

As the pain accelerated I took a dose of Alvedon (like Tylenol), a hot shower, and had a round of acupuncture, but by 3AM I couldn't breathe through the contractions anymore, so we pressed the call button for the midwives. Another painful check revealed I was almost 5 cm dilated and we were finally ready to be admitted to a birthing room. We quickly put our things together and moved to the room where we'd meet our little one.

I hadn't expected the pain to be so intense at that point—or rather, I had expected to have a higher pain tolerance, but whether that was just wishful thinking or my exhaustion at having experienced contractions without end for 30'ish hours had weakened me, or a combination of both, I immediately asked to try the lustgas (laughing gas), one of the natural pain therapies available. And when the midwives saw, as by then I was strapped to a monitor, that I was experiencing double contractions (overlapping ones, fun!), they had me hooked up to the gas in no time.

(There was absolutely no way I could have gotten into a tub at that point, which is why my hoped-for water labor didn't happen.)

The laughing gas worked well for a few hours, but not enough that I was able to rest before I would have to begin pushing so R and I talked with the midwives and made the decision that I would begin to get a small dose of an epidural—the one thing I'd hoped to avoid (given what I'd read about how it can make it hard for a woman to feel the final contractions and push effectively and how it can affect when your milk comes in*), but I knew that in order to get our baby out I'd need to rest, so I acquiesced.

The anesthesiologist came, prepped me, and began the dosage, which (luckily) in Sweden is done gradually, in very small amounts, versus one huge one, which helped me make the decision to have it. It did the trick and I was able to sleep for a few hours, which meant that R finally could, too.

+ + +

Our son's birth day had dawned beautiful and blue-skied, and dozing off in a sun-filled room while staring out picture windows to the greenery outside was a teensy bit magical (and not just because of the drugs).

When we woke up around mid-day it was go time.

In Sweden, women are encouraged to try multiple positions and apparatuses to help the baby descend. I tried a few things: sitting on an exercise ball, standing with a birthing "walker", and sitting on a birthing stool with R positioned behind me.

None of those did the trick, so I moved to the actual birthing bed and rather than laying down with knees bent as you see on T.V., I tried pushing while on all fours with R standing behind the bed and facing me, but still no baby.

By then my energy level was nonexistent, so the midwives helped me lay on my side while one raised a leg, another applied warm compresses, and the third, most senior one, guided our little boy out.

Not even two seconds had passed between him emerging and the midwife laying him next to me so that both R and I could stare down at the wondrous little being we'd created. I would go through everything again just to relive that singular moment of joy we shared when we first locked eyes with our son and were transformed from wife and husband to mamma and papà.

+ + +

It wasn't until a few moments had passed that I realized we didn't know if the baby snuggled up to me was a boy or a girl—in another departure from what you see on T.V., the midwife didn't call out what she saw (or didn't see) when she delivered the baby and handed it to me. I had the delight of peeking down below myself to see what was what and excitedly proclaim to R, "it's a boy!".

We stayed in our birthing room for a few hours while I was cleaned and sewed up—and unlike what I've heard about the majority of post-birth activities in the U.S., our baby stayed in my arms the entire time. He wasn't taken away to be cleaned up or even weighed.

A good two hours passed before I was able to sit up and then R, who had taken off his shirt in preparation, was finally able to cuddle with his son warm against his chest while I showered and dressed.

Then a midwife brought in the Swedish spread I had been promised—flutes of sparkling cider, coffee, open-faced sandwiches and a wooden Swedish flag tchotchke taking center stage on the tray. After we'd had our little bedside feast, another midwife came back to measure and weigh the baby and help R to give him his first bath.

At that point we were ready to be moved to the Patient Hotel, where new parents and their brand new babies can stay for up to two nights (for births without complications) to recover and get to know their little one while all their needs are taken care of and midwives are on call in case any help is required.

When people back home saw photos of our room they were astonished—it contained a queen-size bed (with two mattresses and separate adjustment controls so both the mamma and papà can choose whether to lay down or sit up), night stands, a table and two chairs, a closet, and a private bathroom with a shower. Throughout the room small red buttons were installed, and pressing any one of them would bring a midwife to the door.

It happened that we were at the hotel over the Santa Lucia feast day and in true Swedish fashion we were treated to a Santa Lucia procession at dawn. I was nursing the baby when I said to R, "do you hear singing?". A few minutes later there was a gentle knock at the door and then someone poked their head through to ask if we'd like to have our door opened so we could enjoy the procession. Of course we said yes, and we soon saw the preceding glow of candlelight from around the corner before a group of ladies dressed in white robes, clasping candles, and with green crowns on their heads came to our door to serenade us.

As they moved on to the next room we were brought mugs of glögg (warm spiced wine, but ours were nonalcoholic) and lussekatter (saffron buns). There's no way we could have had a more perfect first morning with our winter baby—snuggling with him and R in the glow of candlelight and the scent of saffron made everything about the previous days' labor vanish from my memory (...at least temporarily).

+ + +

The biggest and perhaps best advantage of giving birth in Sweden is the incredible care provided by the midwives. No matter where you give birth in this country, the pre-natal maternal care and actual delivery are all handled by midwives. You'll only see a doctor if there's a serious complication.

We chose to give birth at BB Stockholm, one of the birthing centers within a hospital (Danderyds Sjukhus) in Stockholm. There's a stand alone birth center in the center of the city (BB Sophia), but we opted to be close to a hospital, just in case. (One of the Swedish princesses gave birth to her son there last summer, not that that's why we chose it, but it was nice to know that it met royal standards.)

I'm sure that all of the birthing centers and hospital labor and delivery wings provide amazing care, but we both felt that the care we received at BB Stockholm was incredible and could not possibly have been better anywhere else.

Despite not getting to have the birth I wanted, I never once felt scared (at least for my health or safety, for my pain, yes) or alone or helpless. At every step of the way there was a midwife offering encouragement to me, explaining everything to us that was happening (in perfect English!), laying a calming hand on my forehead or on my arm, and always being warm, chatty and sympathetic. There was a level of intimacy and kindness that I can't imagine having somewhere else (certainly not in NYC if I'd given birth at a hospital that accepted whatever insurance I happened to have). And when our son was finally born even the midwives were moved (I saw a tear!) and gave us both big hugs.

While the three teams of women that saw us through from my admittance to us taking our little boy home (plus the ones who answered our phone calls for the day-and-a-half prior to us even walking into the birthing center) officially carry the title of midwife, we'll always think of them as the angelic, blue-smocked shepherdesses who helped me bring our son into this world.

+ + +

And the cost of the tremendous care we received?

Not only did I not pay a single thing over 40 weeks of prenatal care (nor are we paying anything now for our son's initially weekly, now bi-weekly checkups), but the actual price of giving birth in Sweden was zero.

The only thing that comes with a cost is the stay at the Patient Hotel—mammas pay 100 kronor, or ~$12 per day for care and all meals, while the papàs/the other partner pay 500 kronor, or ~$60 per day. For the two-and-a-half days we were at the hospital, the total cost we paid upon leaving was $144. Not too shabby for giving birth and recovering in the 5th best country in the world for maternal health.

Although that midwife care? We could never put a price tag on that.

+ + +

More on Swedish healthcare, prenatal care and giving birth in Sweden:

* Whether it was an effect of the epidural or not I don't know, but in the last moments of delivery I did indeed (terrifyingly) have trouble "feeling" when to push, the result of which was a painful-to-recover-from set of stitches. My milk also came in "late". (But even if I'd known that that would have been the case for me, I'd still have taken the epidural.)

One year ago: The end of the year festivities & A wintry sunset walk
Two years ago: 2014: the beginning & Week 1
Three years ago: Postcard from Honduras & A sheaf of the past

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2015: The year that was

2016-01-21T16:39:00.002+01:00

[A bit late this year, but I have a good excuse...it will be quiet for a few more weeks until I can tear myself away from milky baby gurgles and chubby baby fingers.]

As in previous years (2012, 2013, 2014), here's this year's swan song.

1. What did you do in 2015 that you'd never done before?

Made snow angels...as an adult
Argued with a Swede in Swedish (albeit a short argument)
Went on a(n overnight) cruise
Rode on a motorcycle in Sweden
And...had a baby

2. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes—quite a few friends (and acquaintances), both here and in the U.S.

3. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes.

4. What countries did you visit? Cities?

Turkey // Istanbul
Italy // Taormina, Lampedusa & Fontane Bianche, Noto, Marzamemi
The Czech Republic // Prague
Austria // Vienna
Sweden // Uppsala, Göteborg, Båstad, Svartsö & Gustavsberg

5. What would you like to have in 2016 that you lacked in 2015?
2016 is going to be so different from any other year in my life that I don't think I can really compare it to 2015, but in any case, a few repeats from last year:

Greater ease with speaking Swedish, although I don't see this happening until I'm working in an office environment again (or until our little guy starts having playdates with Swedes).
An apartment/house where we'll be able to settle in for more than a few months/year.
The kind of work that makes you excited to sit down at your desk and get started (after my maternity leave).
More local friends...I think the New Mamma/Parent groups arranged by the local baby nurses will help with this (more on that later).

6. What dates from 2015 will remain etched upon your memory?

The day I found out I was pregnant
The day our little boy was born

7. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
A safe and healthy pregnancy, followed by surviving 40 hours of labor to deliver our son.

8. What was your biggest failure?
Repeated from last year: not practicing Swedish enough (or...at all, at least not verbally)

9. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Just some pregnancy related aches and pains.

10. What were the best things you bought?

Plane tickets to Turkey, Italy, the Czech Republic and Austria (well, maybe not Austria)
Lots of yarn
A jewelry stand (bought for me by R)
A motorcycle (bought by R for R, but enjoyed by me)
The time of a team of painters
Our amazingly comfortable bed
Fresh flowers every week
Everything we bought for the baby
Countless slices of carrot cake

11. Where did most of your money go?
Travel, baby things, rent.

12. What made you happy/got you excited?

See #6 and #7.
Also: making more friends.
And: finally (FINALLY) becoming an Italian citizen.

13. Are you happier or sadder than last year? Thinner or fatter? Richer or poorer?
Happier. A wee bit fatter—although this year's weight is not of my own doing, unlike last year (which I blame on the chokladbolls). Poorer.

(Another year proving that being thinner and richer do not equal happier!)

14. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Speaking Swedish.
Interesting work projects.
Bicycling.
Been more outgoing/gone to more Meetups.

15. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Hmmm, worrying/stressing, I suppose.

16. How did you spend Christmas?
At home, with a newborn, surrounded by family and friends from NY, Sicily and Stockholm. We had our usual Christmas Eve dinner, but this year I was only responsible for feeding/cleaning up after one person and spent the majority of the holiday on the couch with a bottle of water next to me and a warm, cuddly little body snuggled up against me.

17. What was your favorite TV program?
Old standbys that are still going strong:

Homeland
Downton Abbey
Scandal
Madame Secretary

New entrants:

The Good Wife
Blue Bloods
Graceland

18. What were your favorite books of the year?

Rooftops of Tehran, Mahbod Seraji
The Sunrise, Victoria Hislop
The English Spy, Daniel Silva
Act of War, Brad Thor
The Oleander Girl, Chitra Divakaruni
The Eleventh Commandment, Jeffrey Archer
The English Assassin, Daniel Silva
Mightier Than the Sword, Jeffrey Archer
Secret Daughter, Shilpi Somaya Gowda
The Thread, Victoria Hislop

19. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
Turned 32 in Lampedusa, where we went on an ill-fated hike but recovered with the most amazing dinner at Cavalluccio Marino.

20. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
This year turned out pretty darn well, but perhaps on the non-home and family front I wouldn't have minded some more interesting and satisfying work.

21. What kept you sane?

Long, long walks (when I could)
Knitting (23.5 projects this year)
Reading (20 books this year, and all-time low for me)
Fika'ing
Motorcycling (while I could)

22. Recount a valuable life lesson you learned in 2015
Sometimes it's better to not say anything at all.
(Relearned this one.)

One year ago: 2014: The year that was + The end of the year festivities
Two years ago: 2013: The year that was + Red-eyed revelry & Christmas traditions
Three years ago 2012: The year that was + Merry Christmas from Honduras!

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And then there were three

2015-12-31T06:00:00.000+01:00

There are a few ways to say "to give birth" in the Italian¹ language, the most poetic of which is "dare alla luce"—to give to the light.

A few weeks ago, while R held me up after 40 hours of labor and I roared out my angst and shock at the amount of pain I was in, I gave birth to our son on the clearest, brightest, most unbelievably blue-skied day of this winter. As the sun began to flicker out after a glorious afternoon, our last one before our hearts no longer belonged solely to us, our little boy entered our life while a shaft of light danced across my bed and tears streamed down our faces.

He's finally here.

¹ While we were at the birthing center, a certified letter arrived with the news that my request for Italian citizenship has finally been processed (2.5 years later, for anyone who's counting—see the backstory here). I'm officially a citizen of the Repubblica Italiana and our baby boy was born to two American/Italian parents.

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The third trimester

2015-12-15T08:26:00.000+01:00

Nighttime in our lovely, long awaited bed has mostly ceased to be the pleasant experience it once was. Sinking into its downy confines and cool cotton sheet embrace doesn't quite provide the solace it once did, as my third trimester weight gain and increased circumference ensures that most positions are quite uncomfortable.

Sometimes I can get the ratio of pillow-fluff-supporting-belly-rotundness just right and I'm able to fall asleep quickly, but whether I get there fast or slow the fact that I have to lay on my side ensures that sooner or later a leg or an arm will fall asleep (and not in the desired way) and I'll have to heave myself over. Either that or our little one's increased frequency of movements will keep me awake. And the closer we get to the birth, the less I sleep but that's more anxiety than anything else.

Other third trimester happenings?

Near daily heartburn and indigestion (which thankfully tapered off mid-way through this trimester) and the need to always have a plan of where the nearest bathroom is while out, as by 7.5 months I was on a 90'ish minute bathroom break cycle. (Thank goodness for charming hotels dotting Stockholm).

Then there was that little blip where I couldn't walk very well, but that only lasted two weeks (thanks to recovering from all the walking we did in Prague and the help of a physical therapist that had great advice).

Aside from the above, things have gone ridiculously smoothly (and comfortably) and we've had the luxury of being able to slowly prepare. There were bi-monthly midwife appointments, a birth plan written and emailed, the birth center information night and parent's prep course, lazy days to put the crib, high chair, and stroller together and to wash all of our baby clothes and textiles—and then find places to store everything, of course, and the gradual packing of our hospital bag.

Now everything is set up and awaiting for his/her arrival, just like we are.

One year ago: The scent of Christmas & Swedish sauna rituals

Two years ago: The last stitch
Three years ago: Dolphin dives & An unburdening

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Christmas in the city

2015-12-11T08:16:00.000+01:00

As soon as I got over that pesky unable-to-walk situation, I (gingerly) jumped right back into my city wanderings. With Christmas lights going up and on across the city, cool, gray December afternoons are a perfect opportunity for a ramble.

(Also: the perfect opportunity to enjoy my final moments alone as a carefree gal.)

One ramble included a Sunday brunch at The Hairy Pig, an atmospheric, teeny-tiny, pub-style restaurant on the edge of Gamla Stan. That was followed by a stroll over to Stortorget, the main plaza in Gamla Stan, to visit the Christmas Market (seen here last year, at night).

European Christmas Markets are so quaint—there is a bit of kitsch, but the majority of stalls and decor are simple and wintry, filled with lovely handmade objects (like, hand-carved wooden Dala horses, Swedish sheepskin slippers, festive wreaths and mistletoe, and hand-dipped candles), and the ever present stall serving fragrant glögg and pepparkakor, of course.

Plus, the Swedish Julbock, a.k.a. the Christmas Goat, something I desperately need to acquire for us. Our current Christmas set-up is definitely missing a jolly straw goat, preferably a family of them.

On another day I decided to interrupt my morning of errands with a long, leisurely fika. I don't have a go-to spot downtown (like my Vasastan favorites: Cafè Pascal, Haga Bageri, and Kaffeverket), but I did remember that Kaffeverket had a downtown sister cafè called Snickarbacken 7, so I wandered up towards Stureplan to visit.

It's housed in a really beautiful industrial space that combines the cafè, a small "pantry" where you can buy beans and ground coffee and other fancy and tasty items, and a boutique with clothes and artwork. The cafè is much bigger than Kaffeverket's space, and even more of a freelancer/mobile-worker's dream spot, as it has free Wi-Fi, tons of plugs, and soft lighting.

They also have that yummy Swedish take on carrot cake that I'm obsessed with—which is all I needed to make the trip a success.

A stroll back across town to look at NK's Christmas windows (which have a pull similar to NYC's Macy's, Bloomingdale's, Bendel's, etc.) to see Stockholm's version on showcase artistry was the perfect way to end my morning of errands (and cake).

One year ago: Decked out for Christmas in Stockholm

Two years ago: Hello, December & Thine self, quantified
Three years ago: Carafes, castles & clans & Joining the EU

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An unexpected shower

2015-12-08T19:02:00.000+01:00

When my friend Johanna invited me over for a "Julbak och Julpyssel kväll" (Christmas baking and crafting evening) with her sister-in-law and their daughters I was thrilled. A whole Saturday afternoon and evening listening to cheery Christmas carols, crafting together with little girls, and rolling out and baking Swedish gingerbread cookies (pepparkakor) all while candles are twinkling and aromas of ginger and cinnamon waft about? That is exactly my cup of tea—or, glögg, as it so happens.

But when I walked in and began the 5-minute long process that is now required when I take off my coat, hat, scarf, gloves and boots I noticed that she was quite dressed up for an evening of baking and it wasn't until I finally turned away from the coat rack and began waddling towards the living room that I realized there were people sitting there that I knew, but that she didn't. And instead of flashes of Christmassy red and white and gold and silver I saw blue and pink banners and balloons and realized it wasn't a Christmas baking and crafting evening at all, but a surprise baby shower!

(Which didn't stop me from turning back to her and saying, wait, so we're not baking?)

Since baby showers are still a relatively new thing in Sweden, and with so many of my female relatives and friends living in the U.S., I didn't even think about having a baby shower, so it was an even bigger surprise for me that she would throw me one.

And such a lovely and thoughtfully-put together one it was.

It began with us sitting at the dining table where my eyes nearly popped out of my head when I realized what was on the menu—remember that fantastic Kurdish biryani I talked about a year and a half ago, the one I couldn't get over when I first had it at Johanna's daughter's birthday party? Well, she knew how much I loved that crunchy, savory goodness and had her mom make a special one and bring it over for the baby shower.

While we ate I questioned everyone about their birth experiences—as all the ladies present, both Swedish and American, have given birth in Stockholm in the last few years and had a lot to share from when their labor began to their experiences at the hospital to their stay at the "hotel" and their first days home.

And the girls all had a good laugh when I specifically asked when their water broke (1 at home in the bathroom, all the rest at the hospital during active labor), and then revealed that R, at the suggestion of his (American) colleague, covered my spot on the sofa and the bed with satin shower curtains just in case my water broke on our newly-purchased, long sought after, non-IKEA furniture.

After dinner we moved to the coffee table where Johanna had set a deliciously-decadent walnut/hazelnut cake topped with bitter chocolate mousse, a plate of mini cupcakes and cake pops that nodded to my Americanness (Red velvet cake! S'mores! Banana nut!), and mugs of tea for us to snack on while we began the baby shower games.

To start, all the girls filled out a questionnaire where they answered questions like when they thought the baby would be born, its hair and eye color, whether it would be a boy or a girl, what letter they thought the name would begin with, and its weight and length.

Then each girl took a ball of yarn and cut off a length they felt would encompass my stomach—some were tragically large, but two, Johanna's and R's cousin's fiancee's were exactly the right circumference.

After that began the portion of the evening that separated the mamas (everyone else) from the non-mamas (me). The third activity involved a selection of baby foods in unmarked containers and the request that we guessed what they were. I seem to think pre-prepared baby food is a bit more gourmet and over-the-top then it actually is, as I came up with, "Sun-dried tomato pesto pasta" (it was spaghetti with meat sauce). I also had trouble identifying the different types of paps and cereals, calling what was a cornmeal and potato puree, "some kind of mash".

Next we were each blindfolded in turn and told to diaper a doll. I came in dead last at 38 seconds (the winning girl did it in 23), although I did get a point for style.

Finally, the true test of a mama vs. a non-mama. Johanna disappeared into the kitchen and came back with 3 "dirtied" diapers. I logically knew that they weren't actually dirtied by any baby and were smeared with some kind of food, but the color/texture (ugh) of the substances and seeing them inside diapers was too literal for me and I began to feel quite nauseous, something I haven't felt since back during my first trimester.

All the others quickly picked up the diapers, no qualms on their part, to inspect them closely and sniff at their contents to guess what had made the "mess", while I tried to keep my dessert down and couldn't even bring myself to place my nose anywhere near the diapers. Zero points for me that round.

(The correct answers were: Nutella, a melted Snickers bar (the very textured one), and a melted Mars bar).

Once those diapers were banished to the trash can we tallied up the points, anointed a winner and then finished the evening with a few gifts, which were a perfect mix of what we needed more of and what we hadn't even thought of (but needed).

First up: a few very cute, gender-neutral onesie sets (with matching hats!). Then, a beautiful book of Swedish fairytales, accompanied by a CD (an excellent addition for non-native Swedish speakers) with oral versions of the same stories, plus songs—something we really needed and wanted, but hadn't yet picked up for our bookshelf.

I was also gifted a sweet little "activity fox", and since we don't really have any toys (unless you count the mobile), that was a perfect gift, too. The fox's ears crinkle when you touch them, while his hands rattle when you shake them, and his little bandana is actually a teething toy, so something to entertain the baby with and provide some stimulation.

We didn't have a nightlight, but one of my gifts was a sweet little dove (who looks surprisingly like the birds in the mobile!) that sits prettily when not in use, and when needed, can be turned on which causes it to slowly change colors thanks to the LED bulb inside, morphing from white to blue to green to yellow to purple to red to orange, helping light up a dark room at night and entertain the baby.

Finally, a beautiful folding picture frame with one side ready to put a picture into and the other to contain a clay foot- and/or handprint of the baby (the kit comes with a mix to make the clay at home).

It was such a sweet, generous, and fun (and informational!) evening (even sans gingerbread baking!).

I went home grateful to know that I have a mini tribe of mamas I can turn to for help and encouragement once this little one arrives, something that's so very important—and something I didn't think possible when we first arrived in Sweden and began creating new lives for ourselves. No matter how much (amazing) help Sweden provides to parents, that's one thing they can't help you with—but looks like we'll be just fine.

One year ago: The biggest differences I've noticed in Sweden: Vol. 4

Two years ago: Butter coffee & butter tea & The last stitch
Three years ago: Honduran holiday

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Unpacking Christmas

2015-12-03T15:54:00.001+01:00

It's that lovely time of the year again, when Sweden shows its best side. Last year, when I experienced my first Christmas in Stockholm as a resident (versus previous years when we flew here together from NYC, or before that when we met here, traveling separately from NYC and Sicily before we were married), I marveled at how (comparatively) uncommercial, simple, natural and warm the Swedish approach to decorating for and celebrating Christmas was:

"Growing up in New York and coastal Virginia, Christmas decorations were heavy on the multi-colored strings of lights and lit-up figurines of Santa Claus, his sleigh and reindeer, and a bevy of spectacularly-wrapped presents. There were also nativity scenes and Bethlehem stars and sweet candles lighting up the windows, but on the whole, the decorating styles were equally represented or perhaps a little more than slightly edging towards the kitschy side.

But one of the (many) things I adore about northern Europe is how it dresses up for the holidays—there's a bounty of white lights (my favorite), Christmas markets in the shadow of buildings constructed hundreds and hundreds of years ago filled with loads of handmade and locally-crafted gifts, and the majority of decorations embrace and celebrate the wintry landscape: miniature bulbs that flicker on and become animals that roam mountaintops and snow-covered woods, rustic straw figurines of goats, oranges studded with cloves hanging from doors and windows, and paper stars that look homey instead of glamorous are everywhere you look.

It feels so festive and more in tune with the solstice, hibernation, and the way generations before us survived the darkest months of the year versus the commercialized aspect (which of course still exists here, but it doesn't feel as strong to me, or at least not yet).

My family's tradition (which R and I followed living in New York) was to bring down all the Christmas decorations from the attic and carry home our Christmas tree from the "farm" (the local grocery store's parking lot) on Thanksgiving. While R's family's tradition is the same as ours in that they also always have their biggest celebration on the 24th, they don't bring home their tree until the week of Christmas, Swedish-style."

Here in Stockholm we decided to continue the inherited tradition we followed in NYC of bringing home a live tree a few weeks before Christmas so we could sit in its cozy glow and enjoy that heavenly scent for a few extra weeks.

While before we'd gone to Brooklyn to pick out a tree and cart it home on the subway as seen above (much to the delight of our fellow passengers, less so to the 6'4" man carrying our tree), this year that wasn't exactly an option. Mostly because trees aren't really for sale just yet and also because our subway stop isn't conducive to carrying trees home from. So: we looked online and found Smålandsgran, a company in the south of Sweden that delivers trees to Stockholm and Göteborg for very reasonable prices.

It arrived earlier this week and is now set up before our windows, overlooking the boats sailing by. While playing Christmas carols and sipping the season's first glasses of glögg and munching its first pepparkakor, we spent the afternoon unpacking our box of Christmas goodies and setting up all our flashes of red and gold and white.

Our tabletops are covered with crimson runners; we have craft paper-wrapped pots of poinsettias and amaryllis in our windows; and our tree is decorated with a mix of simple white, silver and gold balls, a small selection of my childhood ornaments, and a handful of clove-studded clementines that smell divine. With beautiful white Advent stars glowing in our windows and pillar candles twinkling from our black metal lanterns, we're all set for the coziest of Christmases.

And for a very special guest to arrive.

One year ago: A drive north to visit Biskops Arnös Christmas market

Two years ago: Rainy Fridays & Feasting, seasonally
Three years ago: A bout of the sniffles & Oh, the places you'll go

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A flock of little birdies (and a handmade crib mobile)

2015-11-27T08:53:00.000+01:00

After finishing those pants, I decided that perhaps it might be a good idea to wait until this baby is actually born (and we know its size) before making anything else for him or her.

But then the crib we'd ordered came and when we put it together I realized that the drape rod poised above, which is meant to hang a canopy and a mobile from, was missing one of those things.

The canopy will arrive soon (along with matching sheets and other assorted baby textiles, courtesy of my mom, her sewing machine, and her talented hands), but meanwhile, we hadn't bought a whimsical mobile to hang over our little one for his/her entertainment.

So—I decided to make one, and then that could be my last handmade goodie for the baby (instead of those pants). And with a trio of wool skeins I was gifted from a friend for my birthday, in perfect soothing shades of gray, mint green and cream, I had exactly what I needed to start.

While I was completely besotted with the idea of making a wild animal mobile, with elephants, monkeys and lion cubs (naturally), turns out those are quite complicated to make. And as this was my first time knitting and stuffing a "softie" (a.k.a. stuffed animal, lovie, etc.), and I've learned the pitfalls of trying to go rogue with something new, I wanted to follow a straightforward pattern.

Enter Rabbit Hole Knits and this sweet pattern for a "Bluebird of Happiness" (which I've christened as a "lovebird" for my mobile). I also made Purl Soho's Crocheted Balls to intersperse between the birds. When I had my four birds and four globes finally finished, then I had to figure out how to attach them all to an embroidery loop I'd wrapped in matching wool.

And that's when things got complicated (and the cursing began). Not being particularly good at measuring, nor at engineering, figuring out how to hang 8 things evenly from a hoop that was laying on the table (as I had no way to hook it or hang it until I figured out how to hang things from it) proved to be exasperating. That combined with realizing that not being a crocheter means my crocheted balls were a little...uneven, and I began to find the whole thing disappointing and a little hokey looking.

After pottering about for an hour, covered in wool fuzz and bits of glue, with assorted needles and pins surrounding me, I still couldn't get it to look just right. I fiddled with the braided cords I'd made to hang it all together one last time and then turned off the lights and went to bed.

When I woke up the next morning and saw the wan, gray November Swedish light playing softly against my little birdies, I realized that it was perfect just as it was. As all things made with love actually are, I suppose.

Maybe I'll manage my elephants and monkeys the next time around, but for now, I'm happy to see these little birdies flitting above our soon-to-arrive baby's nest.

P.S. Ravelry project notes here.

One year ago: The gift of a day together in Östermalm

Two years ago: The days are long, but the years are short
Three years ago: How to embrace a gray Sunday & Undecked halls

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Giving birth in Sweden: The parent preparation course

2015-11-23T06:44:00.000+01:00

When I'd registered us for the information night at the birthing center we'd chosen, I also signed us up for the 6-hour (!) "parent preparation" course, which covered a litany of topics related to the actual labor and delivery, as well as the days and weeks after. As we've both gone into this adventure with our eyes wide open but without our brains jammed full of information from every possible source, the relatively brief, but comprehensive, afternoon course was the perfect choice for us.

And what I mean by sans information overload is that we've purposely chosen a "light" form of preparation for this little one's arrival next month. We've got the big, necessary stuff ready, a few purchased onesies and clothing sets in varying newborn sizes (the plan is to get more once we actually know how big or small the baby is on arrival), and a few each of some of the smaller things, like swaddling blankets. But that's it. We have a minimalist, simple approach to purchasing things for our home and while it's a little hard to hold strong to that when a baby is on the way, we're doing our best.

We took the same approach when it came to "mental" preparation, in that we've talked a lot about the kind of parents we want to be, how we'll handle diapering and breastfeeding and food choices and the like, but apart from figuring out what I should and should not eat during pregnancy, we didn't get too bogged down in loads of information about each week of the pregnancy. Similarly, I've decided not to watch any live birth footage on YouTube and we didn't do a Lamaze course.

There's a chance I'm about to have the shock of a lifetime in a few weeks, but also the chance that practicing yoga for many years and going into this without all the potential what-if's flashing before my eyes will mean a calmer, saner birthing experience (during which I'll already know how to breathe through the pain, theoretically).

So—the one-shot overview of what to expect and how to prepare worked well for our style and we arrived at the auditorium to find it completely jammed with expectant parents. And while the schedule said it was a 6-hour situation, once we'd had a break for lunch and a fika, it was just four-and-a-half hours (whew).

But of course, all in Swedish.

Here's the thing with me and Swedish: if someone asked me to explain to them in Swedish or write down in Swedish what we'd learned, I wouldn't be able to, but given how I process languages (using lots of context clues and educated guessing), following along wasn't too much of an ordeal, as long as I didn't let me my mind wander. And since the lecturing midwife was a great speaker (lots of jokes and a personable style), that was easy to do and I ended up understanding about 80%.

(Even so, when we filed our birth plan we asked that the attending midwives speak English during key moments, because I'm pretty sure I won't be able to handle Swedish right then.)

As for what the course actually covered, she talked about:

How our lives will change as parents:
She reminded us to make sure we do a lot of solo things now, like dinners out and spontaneous plans, etc., telling us to be as selfish as we can, because once that baby comes "every moment of our lives until we take our final breath will be consumed with wondering how our child is". (Her poetic phrasing naturally made me tear up).

How our relationship will change once we're parents:
Then she spoke about how we're about to have a sweet, charming little baby in our midst...who's also a master manipulator. She talked about the importance of working together as a team and warned us not fall into the trap of becoming roommates or transforming our relationship into that of siblings.

I was impressed that these kinds of reminders were included, and in general, that the course wasn't solely about the women and the physical changes and obstacles we're going through to bring our babies into the world, but also about the mental and emotional changes we'd both go through as equal partners in this. (Yay, Sweden!).

The psychology and physiology of birthing:
The hormones that are released and how they instigate contractions, help move labor along, and signal to the body to begin producing milk. And how the baby actually descends and is pushed out (also the different ways that it can come out).

The phases of birth:
Latent contractions—manageable contractions (you can sleep during these).
Active contractions—when your body is dilating to 10 cm (i.e., painful).
Transitional contractions—when the baby comes out (i.e., super painful).

When to call the birth center and when to go in:
We were advised to stay at home as long as possible before coming in, as it's easier and more relaxing to be in your own cozy home than a hospital (assuming you're not the type to panic).

And, that there's no need to call the hospital if your mucous plug comes out, but as soon as your water breaks we must call as the baby must be delivered sometime within 48 hours from that point (so as not to get an infection).

What's great is that the midwives who answer your call listen to how you're breathing and talking and use that to recommend when you should come in (speaking on the phone during a latent contraction is fairly normal, whereas it's very difficult to speak through an active contraction).

Pain relief methods and options:
Sweden offers lots of options and don't push any of them, which is another one of the reasons I wanted to and looked forward to giving birth here. The main choices are taking a shower/bath in your private birthing room's attached bathroom, massage, acupuncture, laughing gas, and an epidural.

The last moments before birth:
This is where I learned one of the most amazing things. The midwife was telling us that when asked what they fear most about giving birth, women's #1 response is that they'd have an "accident" on the table (it happens, the midwives expect it), and #2 was that they'd tear or require an episiotomy.

Not only would the latter be painful during the birth, but recovery from it (with stitches) means a very painful first few weeks at home (with problems going to the bathroom, walking, sitting, and laying down), when you're already dealing with everything else that comes with being a new parent. Then there are also the effects that the French tend to worry about (I'll let you Google that), but the midwife didn't mention that part of it at all.

In an attempt to avoid this very uncomfortable ordeal, midwives take monthly refresher courses on how to coach a birthing woman through each contraction so that she's not pushing when she shouldn't be (which can also cause a tear), but in addition, there are always two midwives present during the final moments of birth: one to guide the baby out and one to apply warm oil and warm washcloths to make the skin more flexible while she uses her own hands to, essentially, hold the woman together. (Amazing.)

The first moments after birth:
We were told there's no reason to include in our birth plans that we want to be sure the baby's cord stops pulsing before it's cut (something that happens quite often in the rest of the world), as standard practice is to place the naked baby on the mother's chest immediately. Cleanup and cutting of the cord comes later—another difference with some parts of the world that cut the cord and clean the baby before it's placed (wrapped) on the mother's chest.

She told the partners present that they'd have to wait their turn to hold the baby as in the first hours after birth it's essential that mothers have the babies with them not only for the emotional bond and contact, but the smell of the baby and the hormones it releases also help get the flow of milk going.

Plus:

What to bring with you to the hospital
Complicated births
Breastfeeding
Going to the "hotel"
Taking the baby home

Once again we left feeling very, very glad to be here in Sweden for this part of our lives. And while the fear of giving birth hasn't quite descended on me yet, going through how it's all going to play out and learning so much about the care the midwives provide, I'm fairly certain that when those feelings of panic set in, I'll have something to remember that will calm me down.

+ + +

More on Swedish healthcare, prenatal care and giving birth in Sweden:

One year ago: A taste of the familiar

Two years ago: Postcard from Trinidad & Tobago

Three years ago: Some tweaks & (Out of the) ordinary

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Rogue pantaloons

2015-11-18T14:27:00.000+01:00

These knit baby pants weren't exactly a labor of love.

And since hate is a strong word to use, I'll say this: I intensely despised every stitch I knit of them and I came very, very close multiple times to ripping it all apart (and I had ample chance to, since I made so many mistakes I had to keep undoing large sections).

After I had finished everything but one leg from the inseam down, I was completely prepared to pull each stitch out and save my yarn for something else, but for some reason I kept at it and forced myself to finish, despite everything I'd learned from Economics 101 and sunk costs.

Why was this such a disaster from beginning to end? The problems were three-fold:

(1) I couldn't find a single pattern that incorporated all three design aspects I wanted, namely: something knit top-down, in the round (so I wouldn't have to seam up the sides at the end), and that incorporated short rows (a technique that allows you to selectively knit certain portions of a garment to create a 3-D "pocket", like one you'd need for a women's top to accommodate her bust, or socks to fit around the heel of a foot, or, in my case, a little extra room in the tush to allow for cloth diapers).

(2) Since I couldn't find a pattern that encompassed all three, I decided to combine parts of multiple patterns to craft my own, which wasn't too bright since I have only ever knit pants once before (see further down).

And (3), the final "pattern" ended up violating some of my own self-set rules, like not knitting straight stockinette (Rule #2), as well as violating what are now two new ones:

RULE #4
I shall not knit larger projects on small needles. Baby pants are considered large in this case, especially when knit on size US 3 (3.25 mm circumference) needles.

RULE #5:
I shall not do Magic Loop projects on small needles, especially if using low-ply yarn (in this case, 4-ply fingering weight yarn, which translates into one of the finest categories of yarn and is characterized by only having 4 strands of fiber).

Magic Loop is a technique that means you don't necessarily need to have multiple sets of the same size of double-pointed needles, but in varying lengths, or, multiple versions of circular needles in the same size circumference, but with different lengths of connecting cables. You can just have the one set of circular needles with the longest cable and then manipulate the cable to be shorter should you be working on a smaller project.

It's an extremely efficient and effective technique—it's also highly annoying when working with finicky thread and smaller pieces, as it seems that every other stitch you have to re-adjust the cable.

If it hadn't been for these charcoal pants—my first attempt knit a few days earlier (which came out well, were finished in a day, and knit from one of the four skeins R picked out at Wincent)—that I'd completed between the sweater that annoyed me and these cream and heather gray pants that really annoyed me, I might have been forced to take a break from knitting for a good long while.

But now that these are done I'm ready for something completely different. Something not baby-related, not knit in-the-round, and NOT knit with super fine yarn.

P.S. Projects notes are on Ravelry—Rogue Pantaloons + Baby Bumpers

One year ago:
Across an ocean (Happy 1st birthday!)

Two years ago:
It all melts away (Happy birth day!)

Three years ago:
Wistfulness & Latte pappas (just a few weeks until we have one in the family!)

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Postcard from Vienna (a.k.a. the last hurrah, part II)

2015-11-16T08:07:00.000+01:00

I don't think it was Vienna's fault—at least not really. But after our magical visit to Prague I don't think that any city could have compared.

(The rain certainly didn't help, though)

We'd both been to Austria as children, but to smaller, more idyllic towns like Salzburg and Innsbruck, which we remembered as enjoying, but Vienna? I'm not sure if it was how commercial and modern the Old Town was or that we had the wrong idea and were expecting something more quaint and atmospheric (a la Prague). Whatever it was, we didn't quite click with Vienna.

But we did have one truly amazing experience.

On our first evening in town we went to a Classical (Mozart) and Baroque (Beethoven) string quartet concert held in a small church in the Old Town. I knew that we had to see some sort of live music while in Vienna, but I wasn't quite interested in a bigger todo, like the ones at the Opera house or the concert houses. Then I came across St. Anne's intimate concert series, which seemed perfect for us.

And it was—an hour of lovely music, sitting a few feet away from the musicians, in a beautiful church.

Our second day found us wandering around Old Town looking for the charm, for Old European flavor unmarred by McDonald's and Starbucks, and sadly, we didn't quite find it, although we did have a proper Viennese coffee break, so that's something.

By the next morning we were ready to go home, but Vienna had a little surprise for us.

We arrived at the airport and put ourselves in line to go through security and were shocked when the security guards insisted I go through the X-ray machine. Based on the two airports I've departed from while pregnant (Stockholm Arlanda and Catania Fontanarossa), I knew that it was within my rights (as it is for everyone) to ask for a physical pat-down from a security guard rather than go through the X-ray machine because of a medical condition. In fact, there were little curtained cabins right behind the X-ray machines precisely for that purpose.

Rather than be accomodating, the security manager put us through quite an ordeal, speaking rudely to us and saying, "Ma'am, just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're special. This is Austria and everyone goes through the X-ray machine".

As he insisted that it was not harmful to the baby, I rationally asked him to show me where on the machine it says that or some form of documentation to confirm. He refused to, and instead called over the military police.

If you thought R might have been upset with the man's behavior before, you should have seen how livid he became when the two armed guards came over and began yelling at us in German (which of course was 100% unhelpful). I stood firm, R stood firm, and the Austrian security manager and military police stood firm.

Finally the head of security came over and pulled the others away so they could have a pow-wow in private. A minute later a female security guard was called over to them and then she came to me and said, "Ma'am if you'll follow me, I'll perform a physical security check in the curtained-off area".

Now really, why didn't that happen 10 minutes earlier? What was all the posturing and peacocking about for? The absurdity of their insistence on making me do something that we felt was unsafe and that they couldn't prove was safe was infuriating. Especially after the wonderful treatment I received in Sweden and in Italy.

In the latter's case, the security agent at the head of the line gently "chastised" me for waiting in line to go through security, saying that as I was pregnant, I didn't have to. Then she led R and I both through to the family line, where he walked right though the X-ray machine and I was immediately led to a woman for a pat-down.

Clearly, Vienna has no intention of waiting for us.

(I still love that song, though.)

One year ago: The first snowfall

Two years ago: Travel tweaks

Three years ago: A bit more on AIRE & Frissons

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My kind of morning

2015-11-12T08:00:00.000+01:00

With a whole morning free a few weeks ago, we spent a few hours doing a condensed version of one of my all-time favorite pastimes: a stroll through town, a flânerie, if you will. An aimless wander to soak up the sounds, rhythms, flavors, and sights of the city.

We started at Kaffeverket, a cafè in Vasastan I came across just before we moved from there to Minneberg, although that hasn't stopped me from still going every chance I can. Not only is it a perfectly cozy place for a fika, given their great pastries and coffee, but as they also have matcha tea, juices, raw milks, coconut water, and full-on breakfasts and lunches, it's a great place to work (if working at a laptop in solitude is your thing), since they have free wi-fi and enough outlets.

Also? Their carrot cake is the absolute best I've found so far here...or anywhere, really. They load in the spices, lace their frosting with tart lemon juice, and sprinkle chopped pistachio and slivers of fig on top. Just look at this tasty little wonder*. I have an obsession with it, so much so that one day recently when I went a bit overboard with cleaning and then had to lay flat on the couch for a few hours to recover, R snuck out and came back with a slice for me (which naturally made me tear up before I devoured it).

After we'd had our morning fika, we walked from Sankt Eriksplan to Odenplan and along the way we stopped in at our bank and then at a baby store to ogle the stroller we'd picked out. Then I remembered hearing about Wincent, a yarn shop on Nortullsgatan just north of Odenplan, so we headed there next.

The boutique is small and quaint—when you enter you see one wall lined with pretty bolts of fabric, while the rest of the shop is lined with wood shelves heaped with yarn. The friendly owner (seems to be a theme here in Stockholm) chatted with us while we looked at all the lush colors and soft skeins of beautiful yarn. I didn't technically need anything, but when R handed me 4 balls of beautiful wool (2 in indigo blue and 2 in charcoal gray) saying, "can you use these?", I took them to the counter immediately.

Turns out he'd picked, purely by how they felt in his hands, 100% organic wool from Lane Mondial, an Italian brand that's been around since the 1940s with a family-run sheep farm just outside of Brescia, which the boutique owner had just visited.

After leaving with my bag of goodies we swung by Akadamiebokhandeln, a book store on the south side of Odenplan (a block away from Café Pascal). We didn't need anything in particular there either, but I can never resist the chance to meander around bookshelves, especially lately when I've been drawn to beautiful (and hilarious) Swedish children's books. While last time I found a wonderfully absurd title, this time I found an equally hilarious illustrated book cover. I laughed, but R was not quite so amused—in fact his Sicilian sensibilities were a tad bit offended.

Luckily he was soon engrossed in a book about whisky so I was free to have myself a proper, un-hurried wander around, which led me to the hobby section and the most ingenious book: Sagornas Stickbok.

It's book of fairytales interspersed with knitting patterns for the clothes the children in the stories are described as wearing. For example: "Pappan, katten och flickan i den röda klänningen" (The father, the cat and the girl in the red dress), which is then followed by a pattern to make the little girl's dress, collar and bib.

How amazing is that? If only I could read fairytales in Swedish with as much enjoyment as I read them in English I would have snatched it up. The problem for me is that fairytales use so many fanciful terms and there are always numerous woodland creatures, which are completely necessary for a children's story, but, my language repository doesn't include many of those words just yet, meaning I can't quite comprehend, much less pronounce them, although I am practicing with my wee friend.

Maybe someday, though.

(*image from Nancy Elmira)

One year ago: Postcard from Andalucía: Sevilla
Two years ago: A Derby Bourbon
Three years ago: Winter oil concoction & Trekking in tights & Farewell fall

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Giving birth in Sweden: The birth center info night

2015-11-10T12:06:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago R and I headed to an information night at the birthing center we chose for where we'd like me to give birth. Having never given birth here in Sweden nor anywhere else, I had us sitting in our seats and was mentally shushing people around me 10 minutes before the midwife was scheduled to begin talking.

(Let me tell you, it's not easy to digest important information in a foreign language, especially when you're anxious and someone is repeatedly crumpling and un-crumpling the opening of their bag of candy while bouncing a toddler on their lap.)

The majority of the women that were there (each, amazingly, were accompanied by their partner) are also due in December, which made me a teensy bit nervous as the birthing center doesn't have that many rooms available (I believe around 20), and if when we call to let them know we're coming in we find out that they're full, I might have to give birth elsewhere, but, I'm trying not to think about that.

Anyway—when I found out that I was pregnant I decided to go with a private midwife group here in Stockholm for my prenatal care, and that private group is connected to private birthing centers located at all of the major hospitals in the area (there are stand alone birth centers, too, but we wanted to be near an emergency room just in case).

I've yet to figure out exactly what the difference is between private and public facilities (aside from aesthetics), as both have the exact same costs for pre-natal care, labor and delivery, and post-natal care for mothers and babies, which is: 0.

The evening began with the midwife going over the birthing center's philosophy—how the midwives work together to make the parents comfortable, how their goal is for both parents to feel mentally, physically and emotionally safe and taken care of, the process for checking in, and the sequence of activities that will take place from when we arrive to when we leave, including what happens after the birth, when we can elect to be moved from the birthing room to the "hotel" where the parents and baby can stay together for two days, assuming everyone is healthy.

(We're definitely taking advantage of that, because having someone else take care of all our needs for the first two days while we get to know our little one, and having midwives on call for any questions or help we might need, especially when it comes to breastfeeding, sounds incredible.)

Being a visual person, I loved when the midwife began flipping through step-by-step photographs in the presentation of the building entrance, the elevator bank, the entrance to the birthing center itself, the birthing room (which has a birthing bed, an L-shaped sofa, chairs, a table, and a private bathroom), pain relief apparatuses (yoga balls, bathtubs, a wooden coatrack-like structure that you can lean into and put your weight on, etc.), and examples of various birthing positions (on the birthing bed itself, on a birthing stool, in different positions on the couch, and even on the floor).

Perhaps the best photo of all, though, was of a smiling midwife carrying in a tray with two flutes of bubbly and two open-faced sandwiches topped with little Swedish flags on toothpicks for the new parents to enjoy after the birth.

While the information didn't go into super-detailed medical specifics (that was covered at another meeting at the birthing center—more on that later), it was a great introduction to how everything's going to play out, especially since neither of us have ever had any experience with Swedish hospitals.

We left two hours later feeling happy that not only had I picked that particular midwife association to be with us for my pregnancy and the birth of our baby, but incredibly relieved that we had waited to leave NYC and move to Stockholm before growing our little family from two to three.

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More on Swedish healthcare, prenatal care and giving birth in Sweden:

One year ago: Postcard from Andalucía: Cadíz + Medina-Sidonia
Two years ago: Craving a cozy cappuccino
Three years ago: Tension with the Times & Fondue femmes

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Fall fika at Gamla Orangeriet

2015-11-04T15:24:00.000+01:00

Following my little tradition (as started...last year) of seeking out a cozy, out-of-the-way place for an autumnal fika, this year's find was Gamla Orangeriet on the grounds of the Bergianska Organic Garden, which sits right on Brunnsviken, an inlet of the Baltic Sea.

Last year I rode my bicycle from Hammarby Sjöstad over to Sickla for my solo fika, while this year we borrowed my in-laws' car for the afternoon and R came with me. On the very short walk from the car across the garden and courtyard to the orangery, I took in as much fall foliage fantastic-ness as possible during my release from confinement (all the while looking beyond the courtyard to where a mossy, pine-y forest stood just waiting for someone to wander through).

The skies were gray, but the colors were blazing, and the breeze smelled smoky and woodsy, just as it should this time of year. After a bit of fresh air we ambled in to the warm confines of the all-white orangery, straight to the organic cafe and ordered a coffee for R and a nut bread for each of us.

One slice from the walnut banana loaf for him and one from the the salted almond and hazelnut one for me (although I didn't realize it was also topped with salt-encrusted almonds, so keep that in mind if you order it, especially if your first bite is a big one, and the only thing around to wash it down with is coffee...which is not pleasant).

Both our slices were deliciously nutty (after my salted nut topping was brushed off) and sitting amidst all the bright white furniture and furry gray bench cushions, before big windows and under very soft lighting, we settled in for our fika—which didn't last long, as within a few minutes we'd both already finished our treats.

So we grabbed a few books from the shelves for R to page through while I pulled out my knitting and contemplated ordering something else sweet.

While the orangery made for a nice afternoon break, I'd love to go back in the spring and see it when there should be more greenery inside—only a few plants brightened up the interior of the café, which I was surprised by, as the greenhouse next door (sans café) was bursting with plants and flowers.

I suppose you could say that the view outside made up for the lack of color inside, though.

One year ago: Postcard from Andalucía: Vejer de la Frontera
Two years ago: A wee shuffle & Welcome!
Three years ago: Equal play & Facial (t)oils

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Postcard from Prague (a.k.a. the last hurrah, part I)

2015-11-02T13:17:00.000+01:00

My first trip to Europe was a three-week tour of five countries when I was a pre-teen bordering on teenagerhood. Without digital cameras, smartphones, blogs, Instagram, Facebook check-ins and the like to help me recall, my memory from that trip two decades ago is a little fuzzy. I did keep a written travel journal, but I no longer have it, and there are printed pictures, but I don't know where they live (and I don't have any digital copies of the pictures themselves).

While I don't remember every single detail and hotel and sight and meal and gorgeous view, there are a few that were engrained so deeply on my awestruck psyche, that all these years later I not only have a clear memory of those experiences, but I can almost close my eyes and see and feel those scenes right before me.

The first one is from our first stop—Paris, France, where we disembarked from the plane and hopped on the subway that would take us into the city. I remember feeling a very vivid sense of disappointment. This was the City of Lights? Of love and romance and glamour? The perfume capital of the world?

To be fair, I didn't give Paris a fair shake in those first few hours, since you can't really judge a city by the subway ride in from the airport (I'd hate for someone to judge NYC by the A/E/J/Z subway ride through Queens and Brooklyn into Manhattan), and especially not on a summer day, not too long after the morning rush hour, when the car is filled with people with one outstretched arm raised to hold the subway pole, and my poor eyes (and nose) were subjected to the sights and scents emanating from those usually covered, but now revealed places.

So that was France.

(For the most part—I also remember the chocolate croissant-filled breakfasts and cramming rolls stuffed with cheese and meats into our bag for the train ride to Versailles.)

Then came Germany, where I distinctly remember tentatively poking my head out of the train car as we arrived in a new country and breathing in the very welcome and extremely delectable scent of freshly baked, yeasty bread.

Switzerland was where I fell in love with a small, lakeside town and earnestly wrote in my journal that I would one day live there (complete with a crude drawing of Mt. Pilatus towering over Lucerne, my someday home). The clear air, the unbelievably bucolic environs and frolicking cows and sheep, the cow bells (which I noted as a good idea for my big dog to wear), the chocolate, the window boxes (which I'm still waiting and hoping to have one day)—it was all exactly how I imagined perfection to be.

In Austria I have a memory of a pretty, gas lamp-lit street where we'd had delicious plates of Wienerschnitzel. And being a lifelong fan of The Sound of Music, I remember noting every person walking by wearing an outfit that remotely resembled a Captain von Trapp or Maria or Liesl ensemble.

We also met with the man whose family is behind a clothing line that played a large part of my family's wardrobe then (and still does for my mom and I today), but also our (at the time) family business. I remember being in complete awe of the process he walked us through at company headquarters—the raw wool coming in, being boiled and turned into fabric, the designers, the pattern cutters, and, my favorite, the racks and racks of prototypes for the next season which I was thankfully allowed to try on (i.e., play dress up with), while a little business was handled among the adults.

Then there was the Czech Republic, where we visited its capital city and a small neighborhood just outside Prague where family friends lived. I remember smushing into the backseat of their teeny (I'm assuming) Skoda for the pretty drive along windy roads to their home for dinner. The Charles Bridge. Dumplings. Pork knuckles. Wenceslas Square. The spiced kick of Becherovka, a wonderful Czech herbal bitters in an emerald green bottle, that I was allowed to taste and bottles of which we brought home, where I continued to (sneak) taste(s) of by pulling out a bottle secreted in the last drawer of my mother's dresser, under her stack of silk scarves and lace handkerchiefs.

Even though only a few years had passed since the Czech Republic had emerged from communism, meaning that parts of the city were still unkempt and sooty, I had the impression that Prague was one of the most beautiful places I had ever been. Walking through its church-lined, castle-surrounded cobblestone streets, under gorgeous, gilded sculptures, and prettily-colored buildings that were charmingly lined up one after the other felt like skipping through a storybook.

+ + +

After we'd booked this year's summer trip to Sicily, and then realized we could squeeze in another (shorter) trip—the last, as it were—before I wouldn't be able to fly anymore, we decided to plan a capital-city trip in mid-October. With 5 days to use, we thought it would be nice to visit two cities and I immediately voted for Prague to be one of them. While I'm normally more interested in visiting new cities, my memories of Prague were nearly 20 years old—and they were all good ones. And since R had never been, it made the list.

We flew directly from Stockholm to Prague on the morning flight and by lunchtime we were already checking into our hotel at the foot of Charles Bridge on the Malá Strana side (versus the Old Town side). We had picked the Domus Balthasar Design Hotel based on its amazing location, its pedigree (a medieval building with modern amenities) and the dark wooden beams in its rooms (a favorite architectural detail of ours). I'd booked the attic room, but after the receptionist saw R's height and my third-trimester stomach, she offered to upgrade us to a suite on a lower floor so I wouldn't have to take too many flights of stairs (there's no elevator) and R would be able to stand upright in the shower (as the attic room ceiling is sloped).

Once we were settled in the room we rested for a bit (at my request) and then by late afternoon we put on our boots and ventured out into the city. Crossing over the still-delightful Charles Bridge, we found ourselves right before a bakery with a huge crowd in front of it, everyone in line for a famous Czech pastry, the trdelník, a sweet, spherical goodie that can be filled with any number of delightful things. Unfortunately I can't find the name of this particular bakery, but if you come off the bridge and continue straight on Karlova you'll find it a minute later on the south side of the street.

Seeing as everybody seemed to be reveling in their treat, we put ourselves in line and ordered a simple, chocolate filled one for R, and a classic, overflowing strudel-filled one for me. Emerging with our precarious sweets we stood on the cobblestones and dug in—R, elegantly so. Me, a little less so, as I struggled to keep my coat, scarf, and nose out of the sweet, creamy, honey-dripping concoction. My clothes survived, my nose (and chin and cheeks), a little less so.

When we'd finished and I'd made myself presentable, we continued on our walk, looping all around Old Town before finally reaching the Old Town Square, where we stood in the middle, taking in the beautiful colors, the street performers' music, and the heady scent of roasting pork (a Czech specialty). Purely by accident, we found ourselves in the square at the top of the hour, when the famous Astronomical Clock does its show, so we gathered with others to watch.

While we continued to meander around for quite a bit, R had already fallen in love with the town for the same reasons I had—he was completely charmed by its un-showy, yet, impressive facades, its enchanting nooks and crannies, its storied history, its very friendly people, and its fairytale-like character.

By the time we arrived back at the hotel ready for a little freshening up and to make plans for dinner, I was ravenous and insistent that we dine on koleno, pork knuckles, another Czech delicacy.

A little Googling led me to a promising option: crispy, roasted pork knuckles at Klášterní šenk, located on the grounds of Břevnov Monastery, the Czech Republic's oldest Benedictine monastery, founded in the 10th century and only a few minutes away by car. The idea of eating something so rustic, in such an atmospheric place was too much for me to handle and we immediately opened up Uber (which we had begun using for the first time on this trip and had already understood was super convenient), booked a car, and were on our way.

Not only was our meal incredible, but having an actual monk in his dark robes walk through to the bar for a pint of beer pushed the experience over the top for me.

(Another plus in Prague: transportation and food is very, very affordable, even more so to us, as we're accustomed to NYC and Stockholm prices, but honestly, good quality meat, beers, charcuterie, fermented cabbage, savory pancakes, all manner of lovely, creamy spreads and freshly-baked bread and crisps to spread them upon for two people for less than thirty dollars would be a coup for most, I'd imagine.)

The next morning our plan was to head up the hill to tour the grounds of Prague Castle, which rather than being a single building, is a complex of buildings overlooking the city. Bur first: breakfast. We left our hotel and headed west along the street that winds up to the castle, an easy (even for me...at that time, at least) 20-minute walk. I had scoped out Creperie U Kajetana, a lovely-looking café on Tripadvisor that morning, so we headed there, as it was conveniently located on the street leading to the castle and makes for a perfect spot for a pre-visit breakfast or lunch.

I had a pot of tea, a herbal juice, and crepes with goat cheese, pears and walnuts, while R had coffee, a carrot juice, and a salmon-topped bagel. The entrance is welcoming and the dining spaces behind are adorably higgledy-piggledy and so cozy that we lingered over our meal before starting the walk up the hill.

As we arrived in one of the main plazas of the complex, overlooking a gorgeous vista of red-roofed Prague, we had a moment of disbelief as we experienced a scene almost too idyllic to believe—palace guards in smart uniforms riding distinguishedly atop regal horses, golden gates leading to palace buildings, a lively quartet playing courtly music in the middle of the square, and this entire tableau taking place under the most striking of blue skies while the autumnal sun shone down (we had perfect weather the entire time we were in Prague).

We strolled around the grounds, taking photographs and listening to the music, visiting St. Vitus Cathedral, and arriving at the castle gates just in time for the fanfare of the changing of the guards and the flag ceremony. Something about all the lovely music and pomp and circumstance and looming cathedral towers made me realize how much I had missed the central European experience.

(Stockholm is a beautiful city and Sweden a wonderful country, but while it's European, it's also squarely Scandinavian, and an entirely different experience than you'd have in a Catholic city in the heart of the European continent.)

I soaked in as much as I could, only agreeing to head back down when I began to tire.

That evening we decided to walk to the Old Town and wander around until we found a place for dinner, but we had less luck with our spontaneous choice that night, so we Uber'd back to Malá Strana and popped around the corner of our hotel to the elegant U Malířů for dessert, where I had some asparagus-mousse and berry invention (I will always be the one to order the oddest-sounding dessert) with tea and R had an apple tart with a whisky.

We were seated on gold-rimmed, brocade chairs in one of the window nooks of the restaurant with a view to the pretty street outside. With classical music playing and the murmur of people around us, we once again took our time over our dishes and enjoyed our last evening in Prague.

The next morning before heading to the train station for the 4-hour ride to our second and final destination, we walked south of our hotel to the foot of Most Legií, the bridge just south of the Charles Bridge, for breakfast at Café Savoy, R's pick of the trip. Walking into the high-ceilinged, classical European coffeehouse we had a feeling that he'd chosen well, and after ordering and then tasting our breakfast spread, we knew that he had in fact chosen the best spot for our farewell-to-Prague meal.

After our feast we walked back to the hotel, zipped up our suitcases and hopped into a car to the train station. Next stop: Vienna.

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One year ago: An afternoon at Äppelfabriken on Faringsö
Two years ago: Odds and ends
Three years ago: Milkman nostalgia & Gentle living & A good thing

Picking up stitches, begrudgingly

2015-10-31T15:33:00.000+01:00

After knitting quite a few pieces that are sure to fit this little one through his or her first week (and then never to be worn again), I've finally got something ready that he or she hopefully won't have already outgrown by the time we get home from the hospital. Measuring in at about 4 inches wider and 2 inches longer than my previous knits, I'm thinking this might last until month 2, or maybe 3. With the envelope folds on the shoulder, which making pulling garments on and off a baby easier, perhaps even longer.

And while I'm happy to have broadened his or her wardrobe a smidgen, I fought with this sweater quite a bit and now have more proof than ever to support the importance of Lesson #3, which I theoretically was already supposed to have learned last summer, on my list of filters to use when choosing a pattern to knit, that is:

I do NOT like setting in sleeves.

For non-knitters, that's the process of finishing the body of a garment first, and then either knitting the sleeves separately and attaching them to the armholes, or picking up stitches from the armhole and beginning the sleeves from there.

It's a tedious, not super exact or neat (at least for me) process that I find infuriating.

Much better to go with raglan-sleeve sweaters (as seen in the lead photo here), a technique that allows you to start the sleeves while you're knitting the body (so there's no need to either attach a finished, separately-knit sleeve or pick up stitches from around an armhole) or, even better, the kind where you knit the sleeves while knitting the body and then you seam them together (as seen in the last group of photos here).

Tediousness and fury at my lap of yarn aside, at least this baby now has something handmade and wooly to wear through his or her first Swedish winter.

P.S. Ravelry project notes here.

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One year ago: Speaking Swedish & Andalucía: Jerez + Carmona & Swedish healthcare
Two years ago: A toast to changes

Longing for autumn

2015-10-29T15:00:00.000+01:00

Like everyone else (mainly my fellow women), I tend to go a little crazy in the fall—it's my favorite time of the year and what I essentially wait around through three other seasons for—the colors, the scents, the food, the clothes, the crunch of leaves under boots, the fact that it's perfect knitting weather, the cool, crispness of the air, the activities.

There's no other season that can compare.

When we first got married R and I went to Miami for a long weekend and as we'd rented a convertible, we drove around the neighborhoods by the beach quite a bit, falling completely in love with Coconut Grove—so much so that we actually went to an Open House. But then I realized:

There is NO fall in Florida.

And that was the end of our very-short-lived idea of moving to Miami.

But now that fall has finally fully descended upon Stockholm—and the view outside our windows is gloriously painted in shades of saffron, orange and persimmon, and Instagram is filled with people frolicking under gorgeous, blazing leaves—I'm turning a bit green.

Green with envy at being stuck inside, trying to enjoy fall from behind a pane of glass, and missing out on a season of taking long, waterside walks under blazing canopies, cerulean skies and inhaling a breeze faintly tainted with chimney smoke.

All because I'm nearing the end of my pregnancy and our little one has decided to position itself in such a way that something of his or hers is pressing up against a nerve (I'm assuming—I'm visiting a physical therapist next week to be sure), which means I can't walk. Or rather, I can, but it's painful and extremely slow and sometimes the sharp, shooting pain is so much that I yelp and nearly fall over.

So rather than be plagued by discomfort and stopped every few feet by the very, very kind Swedes (both women and men alike) who inquire, "Går det bra? Behöver du hjälp?" (Is everything okay? Do you need help?), I've essentially cloistered myself at home.

Except for a few days ago, when I made my way downstairs and out to the waterfront path that runs in front of our building to get some fresh air and take the picture above.

Totally worth the grimacing.

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One year ago: Leaving Hammarby Sjöstad
Two years ago: Easing into winter & Neighborly
Three years ago: Hurricane Sandy & Forward & Foiled & Not a first