First Impressions
So, transplanting one's life is hard. Add a healthy dose of pregnancy nerves, an unhealthy dose of depression, and general difficulties in being away from family and friends and you have a cocktail for some challenging times.
Some days are harder than others. Today I feel pretty good. I could appreciate my exploration of the city with Harold and got a lot of stuff done around the apartment. Yesterday was not so swell. It was one of those days when I had to congratulate myself for the basic stuff: Hooray, you brushed your teeth! Well done, you took the dog out to pee!
I am lucky to have a partner who is wonderfully supportive, family and friends who are caring and helpful, and a dog that has basic bodily functions that need to be met. If not the cure, perhaps this is the prescription for those challenging times in life?
We live on a cobblestone pedestrian street, so when I take Harold out, I am met by the rush of Danish shoppers. I have decided that the Scandinavian aesthetic has not been greatly exaggerated - at least not in Aalborg. More people than not are tall, slender, and blonde. The wind is fierce here, but for some reason, their hair looks perfect anyway. In contrast, I am a lumbering hobbit: sporting an Einstein-like hairdo that's only made worse by the gales, a preggo belly, and a whimsical look of wool socks over my leggings paired with old-lady orthopedic tennis shoes. The only thing I'm missing to achieve true hobbit stardom is hairy feet. Although, I hear hair sprouts all over one's body when one is knocked up...so here's hoping!
We live in the city center, which is very cute. Unfortunately it comes with smoke and broken glass. The broken glass kills me as there are dogs everywhere here. How the vet doesn't see 100 cases of glass-in-paw a day is beyond me. And then there's the smoke. I have had the privilege of visiting/living in Europe before. The smoke thing never bothered me much. It just smelled...European. What people wanted to do to their bodies was their business. But now that I'm pregnant I've turned into something of an angry anti-cigarette extremist. It's like it has become my religion to send death rays to the cute 20-somethings trying to look cool with their cigarettes. "If my baby comes out weird it will be your fault!" I want to scream, but so far have kept it in. I know it wouldn't change their mind, but it might scare them to see a pregnant hobbit waddling after them, dog in tow, vowing vengeance on her unborn child.
In terms of personality, the Danes I have met in passing are very kind. They remind me of Minnesotans...not such a coincidence, I know. (There's a reason why so many Scandis settled in good ole' MN.) They are nice and helpful, but they are not overly friendly in the way people from more international cities are. They already have their friend groups...no need to go through the hassle of meeting new people.
Danes also seem remarkably calm and self-assured. I know this is a stereotype, but it's there for a reason. Having just read "The Art of Danish Parenting", (thanks, Kirstin!), it seems like such calm, well-balanced people are not just a product of good genes, but also of a successful upbringing. I have determined I shall follow this book as gospel when dealing with my child, which means that if I follow it a quarter of the time, I shall be happy.
I suppose good parenting means not passing on my neuroses about my appearance which are heightened right now. Pregnancy is like going through puberty again. I look at myself and I think, "who is this?!" Most of the time I feel detached from this weird, changing body, but sometimes I feel disgusted by it. I think I'm starting to come around, but when one identifies as one way for her entire life, and then things start changing, it can be hard to adapt. Better to accept the changes, I suppose, as I hear I will only get bigger. Apparently that's what happens when one is pregnant.
Maybe by next week I'll start being all Meghan Markle and cradling my baby bump 24/7, though that sounds exhausting. (How does she sleep in that position?)
Anywho...until next time!
Some days are harder than others. Today I feel pretty good. I could appreciate my exploration of the city with Harold and got a lot of stuff done around the apartment. Yesterday was not so swell. It was one of those days when I had to congratulate myself for the basic stuff: Hooray, you brushed your teeth! Well done, you took the dog out to pee!
I am lucky to have a partner who is wonderfully supportive, family and friends who are caring and helpful, and a dog that has basic bodily functions that need to be met. If not the cure, perhaps this is the prescription for those challenging times in life?
We live on a cobblestone pedestrian street, so when I take Harold out, I am met by the rush of Danish shoppers. I have decided that the Scandinavian aesthetic has not been greatly exaggerated - at least not in Aalborg. More people than not are tall, slender, and blonde. The wind is fierce here, but for some reason, their hair looks perfect anyway. In contrast, I am a lumbering hobbit: sporting an Einstein-like hairdo that's only made worse by the gales, a preggo belly, and a whimsical look of wool socks over my leggings paired with old-lady orthopedic tennis shoes. The only thing I'm missing to achieve true hobbit stardom is hairy feet. Although, I hear hair sprouts all over one's body when one is knocked up...so here's hoping!
We live in the city center, which is very cute. Unfortunately it comes with smoke and broken glass. The broken glass kills me as there are dogs everywhere here. How the vet doesn't see 100 cases of glass-in-paw a day is beyond me. And then there's the smoke. I have had the privilege of visiting/living in Europe before. The smoke thing never bothered me much. It just smelled...European. What people wanted to do to their bodies was their business. But now that I'm pregnant I've turned into something of an angry anti-cigarette extremist. It's like it has become my religion to send death rays to the cute 20-somethings trying to look cool with their cigarettes. "If my baby comes out weird it will be your fault!" I want to scream, but so far have kept it in. I know it wouldn't change their mind, but it might scare them to see a pregnant hobbit waddling after them, dog in tow, vowing vengeance on her unborn child.
In terms of personality, the Danes I have met in passing are very kind. They remind me of Minnesotans...not such a coincidence, I know. (There's a reason why so many Scandis settled in good ole' MN.) They are nice and helpful, but they are not overly friendly in the way people from more international cities are. They already have their friend groups...no need to go through the hassle of meeting new people.
Danes also seem remarkably calm and self-assured. I know this is a stereotype, but it's there for a reason. Having just read "The Art of Danish Parenting", (thanks, Kirstin!), it seems like such calm, well-balanced people are not just a product of good genes, but also of a successful upbringing. I have determined I shall follow this book as gospel when dealing with my child, which means that if I follow it a quarter of the time, I shall be happy.
I suppose good parenting means not passing on my neuroses about my appearance which are heightened right now. Pregnancy is like going through puberty again. I look at myself and I think, "who is this?!" Most of the time I feel detached from this weird, changing body, but sometimes I feel disgusted by it. I think I'm starting to come around, but when one identifies as one way for her entire life, and then things start changing, it can be hard to adapt. Better to accept the changes, I suppose, as I hear I will only get bigger. Apparently that's what happens when one is pregnant.
Maybe by next week I'll start being all Meghan Markle and cradling my baby bump 24/7, though that sounds exhausting. (How does she sleep in that position?)
Anywho...until next time!
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