Strap it on and get it on

TRX is a work out. Im just clarifying that if you, like me, thought it was some kind of dinosaur. And when my trainer asked my group “have any of you done a TRX session before” I thought to ask if that was a trick question because no, I don’t feel like that about animals and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal even though they are all dead since a million years.

TRX is supposedly for the cool kids on the gym block. You put straps on to something like a wall or a door and then work with your own body weight. You pretty much pull yourself up in different directions and hope that you keep balance and that the strap holds you up and don’t let go. Because if they let go, they will break your face. 

If you have a mean Spanish teacher that tells you that you are a fuss and need to put straps on your freaking feet (!) you might end up falling graciously to the ground and yell “I wanna go home!”

I didn’t fall as I have awesome balance. Gracious like a tanker truck. My trainer told me “that in e Spanish e , I say you are strong as vinegar”. Apparently a good thing. Apparently also a joke. I don’t have any muscles. 

Shit no one tells you

I haven’t read any books lately as there is not much time for that luxury. Well, if you don’t count those squeezy children’s books about snails and bananas. If I do read something it means mostly going online and googling things like “why cant I lick my elbow”, “is it dangerous to wash makeup off with acetone instead of makeup remover. Asking for a friend.” 

I do have some books that I find interesting and wish I had time to read. The first one: How not to hate your husband after kids. Found this in a book store the other day and it appealed to me considering how many times I thought that exact sentence in my head. I might have expressed it too and that’s why my husband don’t mind to do the night feedings anymore. Win/win. I’m happy and well rested = he gets to live. 


Next book: The shit no one tells you. I actually read this book when I was pregnant and I had time on my hands. This is when I learned that my life would officially be over once the baby had been squeezed out. I also learnt that I would talk about poop more than anything and never sleep again. That was a nice and positive book that made me cross my legs. (Yeah I know, too late right… )


Calm the fuck down – parenting technique. I would love to read this oneI’m pretty calm as a parent but I might keep a few extra copies in my bag to hand out occasionally. I’m sure I would make many new friends on the playgrounds.

Don’t you worry, don’t you worry child. 

…..said no new parent ever because once they do, they don’t. 

Getting out of the door with your little one can sometimes feel like you have packed for a travel around the world. Twice. Sometimes I feel like packing our house, buy a caravan and forever stay in it. I’ll just bring my entire home wherever we go. 

The other day we went to one of the shopping malls. Yes, one of those again. The ones we have been to 240 times this summer as to been a kazillion degrees and we chose to live in the desert. I unpacked baby, stroller, life etc out of the car. While walking away from the car I felt complete and cool. Like I was born to be a relaxed mum. I had everything under control. I grabbed the car keys from my pocket and in an insanely cool way, I reached the hand over my shoulder and locked the car without even turning around! My 7 months old baby even looked at me and said “cool as ice, mum”. Well, I’m sure she would have if she could speak. 

After shopping we walked our little walk through the parking garage to search for the car. And we found it straight away, which never happens, but the reason why was because it was easy to spot.


This cool mum left the trunk open! Nothing to worry about. I bet it happens all the time… (anyone..?) 

New parents poetry

There is currently a lot of poo in our house. Poo-talk, poo diaper, real poo etc. I guess everything that comes with a new, little human being. There is also a lot of love and poetry in our house. Inspired by poo. I thought I’ll just share some with you.

Cotton candy makes me happy.

I don’t want to change your nappy.

Cotton candy in my hair.

You don’t have anything clean to wear.

Cotton candy – please don’t make us part. 

That was not just a fart.

And this one is written by my husband who is currently in charge of night time poop explosions:

 My little girly twirly doo,

She likes to do a poo,

In the night at half past two.


And that’s me and an actual cotton candy stick. Out and about and left my husband at home with our cute girl and all poo. I’m a good mum. 

I like big butts and I cannot lie – NO I don’t 

When you have a very wide ass I’m sure that things knocking in to you doesn’t really bother you. Perhaps it feels good. It might just be feel like a little pinch and for a very brief moment you are wondering if a tiny little bug bit you somewhere but then again, no. If you are bothered you might even look around for that little bug as well. 

Anything to the right? Nop!  

Anything to the left? Nop!

Hmm, what was it?

It was ME and my HUGE stroller that you actually saw coming on your right side but you chosed to ignore and instead you turned left, walked two steps and bent down to tie your shoe right in front of me. You stopped like it was a freaking crash on the high way and you had to brake for your life. You stopped like there was no tomorrow. You stopped like the aisle wasn’t almost 10 meters wide and absolutely no other people close by…..except for me. 10 meters of excessive, empty space for you to bend down on. 

Rant over.

Ok, done. 

People, there has been a gas leak!

A few months ago when I was on maternity leave and occasionally opened the door to discover exciting things outside the house like trees and air. I also saw people that had time to shower, ants and there was (still) a  pretty sky. One day I went to one of those “new mama and baby meetings”. I don’t remember any of it as I sat starring at the wall and sleeping with my eyes open. 

These meetings are in a very busy building with a consulate on the top floor which means the elevators are crowded constantly and you have to squeeze in and feel like you are being humped by the person behind you. And this is without a stroller. So when the elevator actually arrives you need to run and do the demolition walk with your baby. This means you just push the stroller in front of you and pretend you don’t see anyone. If someone is trying to step in front of you, you just look the other way and just keep on walking and then do the the tired-mummy look and say “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry” and pretend you that you care. My stroller is like an off road version with extra wide wheels as well. I guess when we bought it we just didn’t know when we would end up chasing camels in very deep sand in the desert with a baby and stroller. (Modern beduism?)

After the mummy meeting me and baby managed to get a spot in an elevator on its way down. We squeezed in with people in suits or tiny little dresses and people that had combed their hair. My daughter was laying in the stroller awake and looking at the people. They were looking back and smiled and I was like yeah, I made that. 

The elevator was dead quiet and suddenly my daughter farted something that could break the sound wall in to space. Even she looked surprised and a little scared. A little bit like you do the day after you had a spicy curry. I started laughing and looked up but everyone was just quietly looking away and pretended it didn’t happened. Ok, we are ignoring baby farts even though it almost started an earthquake. Fine by me. They obviously didn’t spend their day with poop and breastmilk leaks like I did. I was still smiling and looking around to see if anyone (come on, ANYONE?) would look back at me with a little smile. 

Nop.

I don’t know but they might be outside of their homes more then twice a week and are entertained by other stuff. 


The look of I heard something loud !

Let’s go shopping! Don’t forget to warm up.

It’s too freakin’ warm outside to do anything right now in Dubai. Even the camels look a little bit bored of the whole summer situation. Enough now! Or as we say in the Arab countries: Khalas! Pronounced right from the bottom of your throat like you are on your way to spit something up. Dutch people must be awesome at Arabic. No I don’t speak Arabic. Just the main swear words and some other useless sentences.

They say (the people that knows things, whoever that is…God?) that the temperature will soon drop under 40 degrees Celsius during the day. That’s around 104 Fahrenheit degree.Now doesn’t that sound like winter..

This is my climbing like a pro. All summer entrainment can be found inside any of the huge Dubai malls. All I’m thinking is don’t – look – down. So what am I doing? Looking down of course. 

You don’t need to activate your self very much in one of the big malls to feel that you have done your daily exercise. You just need to look at a map and decide to go to the store furthest away from where you are at the moment. Half an hour and five kilometers later you will reach your destination. 

Don’t forget to stretch.

Oh, that is right, I have a child

How forgetful are we as parents? I started thinking about this the other day when my husband seem to have forgotten that we have a baby. I was putting our daughter down for a little nap when my husband left the house to go grocery shopping. Half an hour afterwards he came back and entered the house yelling from the top of his lungs like our hallway was some kind of opera stage. Hello? Hello? Why is nobody answering? Hello?

During this time I was obviously sitting upstairs next to our baby that was just lightly asleep and plotting his murder. How short could his memory be? I cant possibly scream back. He started once again Hello? Hello? His voice echoed all the way from downstairs. He then entered our daughters room to see me sitting there all red in my face and I started doing the most angry gesture as quiet as I could and probably looked like the irritated charade player in the world. BE QUIET AND GET OUT is easiest shown with tensed mouth, angry eyes and continuously waving arms pointing at the door.

Then…The day after…

So we have a babysitter during the days as in the Middle East you get very little to none (compared to Sweden) maternity leave. We get 45 days and that includes the weekends! I added a bunch of vacation and unpaid days to be able to be off for a few months. Anyway we have a nanny as the little one is too young for nursery. The other day they were playing in the garden while I took a shower and got ready for work. When I got out of the shower I heard loud yelling and singing and I was like oh, they are having so much fun together, how cute. All of sudden there was water splashing on my bedroom window! I was on the second floor so I was kind of surprised but thought that’s fun, they are playing waterfall, guessing that is some kind of sensory game for the baby. I imagined my little daughter in her sitter watching the water splashing against the window and pouring down. She loves water. Maybe she was sitting there giggling. But then the water came on all windows and more fierce. (Can water be fierce? It felt angry). That’s when I realized, holy *uck, they are not having fun, they are locked out! This is a call for help!

I ran downstairs and opened the locked door out to the garden to find everything floating. My nanny was smiling at me. She was totally soaked with my wet baby in her arms. “You locked us out”…

Ok, so we all forget sometimes. It’s not like I forget that I’m a mum or my husband that he is dad (well…) but I read somewhere that it takes up to one year for your brain to program that you are a parent. I was laughing when I read that as I was at the moment up a million times a night to breastfeed or comforting baby. I thought to myself that this little one will never let me forget that she exists. And I don’t mind. But yeah, we might get tiny bit confused at times.

Capture
source: huffington post

Our nanny is now watching me with hawk eyes every time she is in the garden and if I happened to close the door behind her. I do it carefully and S L O W L Y, nodding my head at the same time to confirm that yes, I remember, I promise wont do it again.

My dog hates me

She might not love me as much as she loves the baby. Our deepest conversations since six months back has mostly been me saying  DONT LICK THE BABY five hundred times a day but they just love each other. And my baby probably tastes like sweet potatoe and apple purée most of the time so I can’t blame doggie dog. Baby is tasty. 

I’m telling myself that since I saved her from a life on the streets I have the right to dress her up every now and then. It’s the same logic I use when I tell my husband not to wear sneakers all-the-time. I SAVED YOU! No, I didn’t but yeah, kind of..?!


Actually I have nothing against sneakers. The discussion is more “Please just wear underwear for once”. Not everyone wants to see your ass when you move. 

Who’s that?

There is so much pressure on parents. We need to be role models, not swear too much, create routines and most importantly teach our children how to take a selfie. This is something our parents didn’t have to do and see how we turned out. Amazingly normal and incredibly beautiful but anyway..

Will the next generation love technology or hate it? Will they turn all the gadgets off and go live in tree houses? I doubt they will know how to build one. Or they’ll just google it. 


Who is that in the phone?