Lisbon from Kraliky

Lisbon from Kraliky

 

 

Finally I have a little bit time to post photos from Lisbon. I m sitting in Kraliky, listening to sound of ocean waves and seagulls from my phone, Little L finally asleep, Mr.T as usually asleep and one floor lower Zofka finally waking up.

This is my last of 5 days here and we are packing again driving our four asses and tons of our necessary and unnecessary crap to Warszaw.

I feel sad, actually very sad and this sadness comes from somewhere deep inside of me. Many times when I go to sleep next to warm Little L’s body I think of Zofka who falls asleep with ice cold feet and hands wrapped in two blankets with headphones on her head that don’t help her anyway to hear what she is watching on TV, thinking that it actually happens in her room,  and on the bed next to her sleeps a lady who is not her family who is just payed to be there and look after her. This contrast of new life in a full bloom and old life disappearing from an old sore body is so present and strong. I am happy Zofka lived long enough to meet my child but at the same time I feel terrible pain when I look at her and see that she can not sort me to a proper box in her head anymore. She has no idea whether I am her daughter, her mother, her sister or her father. She know I am somebody from the family but she is completely lost in the world of words and their meanings. Actually she is lost in the world as such.

Each time I come here I see that sweet insanity eating up another piece of her and each time I am about to leave I am saying my last good bye.

This 5 days have not been easy. I can’t even touch her anymore, cause each time I feel her bones covered with paper thin wrinkled skin I can’t stop tears falling from my eyes. And she looks at me and does not understand what is the meaning of tears so she is not worried about me as she was just 3 months ago.

Sometimes I feel jealous that she is on this almost psychedelic trip all the time. She watches TV and asks me what are those man doing here as she simply thinks they are in the room with us. Than she explains me that she had two husbands, one is dead and second one is working, while by the second one she actually means my mom, her daughter. I feel happy for her that she is drowning in this sensational world which does not have boundaries at all and where everything is possible and OK. But at the same time I am longing for Zofka who was missing me, who asked me when will I be back, who told me that she loves me, who told me that I am her treasure, who told me we are as close as sisters.

My feelings that I desperately want her to look at me with understanding, loving, recognising eyes full of worries that we have to drive for so many hours just one last time is highly egoistic. But if I had one wish to make that would be it. Because I am meeting her always after couple of months witnessing that progress is like getting hit really hard in my face.

I feel sorry I am not here with her, I am sorry she has to slowly disappear from real world being assisted by women who actually don’t give a shit. I am sorry I was not able to pay her back for everything she has done for me. I am sorry that she raised me and I left her to live my own life. I am sorry that one day I will get a phone call that a person who was middle of my universe stopped breathing and non of her closest people was there to hold her hand. But there is at least one thing that makes me happy, the fact that her eyes light up enormous amount when she sees Little L and that I am the one who brought to life this little person who is in a way continuation of her as well and who is able to make her last days brighten up and who makes her REALLY happy.

I LOVE U Zofka to the moon and back.

PS: I am sorry that I am posting photos from Lisbon in such unhappy atmosphere, but I have to say good bye to Zofka today and I truly worry….

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Lisbona z Kralik


W końcu mam trochę czasu, żeby wstawić zdjęcia z Lizbony. Siedzę w Kralikach, słuchając odgłosu fal morskich i mew z mojego telefonu. Mały L. w końcu zasnął, Pan T. jak zwykle śpi, a Zofka, piętro niżej, w końcu się obudziła. 
To ostatni z 5 dni, które tu spędziłam. Pakujemy się, a potem zawieziemy nasze cztery tyłki oraz wszystkie potrzebne i niepotrzebne rzeczy, do Warszawy. 
Jest mi smutno, a nawet bardzo i ten smutek rodzi się gdzieś głęboko we mnie. Wiele razy, kiedy kładę się obok ciepłego ciała Małego L., myślę o Zofce, która zasypia z lodowatymi stopami, dłońmi owiniętymi w dwa koce, ze słuchawkami na uszach, które i tak nie pomagają jej usłyszeć tego, co ogląda w telewizji, a w łóżku obok śpi kobieta, która nawet nie jest z nią spokrewniona, ale zostaje opłacona, żeby się nią zajmować. Ten kontrast pomiędzy życiem w pełnym rozkwicie, a starym życiem, które przemija w rozbolałym ciele, jest tak widoczny i silny. Jestem szczęśliwa, że Zofka żyła na tyle długo, żeby poznać moje dziecko, ale z drugiej strony odczuwam ogromny ból, kiedy widzę, że już nie może mnie przydzielić do konkretnej przegródki w swojej głowie. Nie ma pojęcia czy jestem jej córką, matką, siostrą, czy ojcem. Wie, że jestem kimś z rodziny, ale jest kompletnie zagubiona w świecie słów i ich znaczeń. Tak naprawdę jest zagubiona w świecie w ogóle. 
Za każdym razem, kiedy tu przyjeżdżam widzę to słodkie szaleństwo, które zjada ją po kawałku i za każdym razem, kiedy wyjeżdżam żegnam się z nią po raz ostatni. 
Minione 5 dni nie było łatwych. Nie mogę jej już nawet dotknąć, bo za każdym razem, gdy czuję cienką jak pergamin, pomarszczoną skórę, nie udaje mi się powstrzymać łez, które napływają mi do oczu. A ona patrzy na mnie i nie wie, co oznaczają łzy, więc nie martwi się o mnie tak, jak się martwiła jeszcze 3 miesiące temu. 
Czasami zazdroszczę jej, że żyje tak, jakby cały czas była na psychodelicznym tripie. Ogląda telewizję i pyta mnie, co robią ci dwaj mężczyźni, bo myśli, że ktoś jest z nami w pokoju. Potem opowiada mi, że miała dwóch mężów, jeden nie żyje, a drugi jest w pracy, przy czym ten drugi, to moja mama. Cieszę się, że odpływa w świecie wrażeń, bez granic, w którym wszystko jest możliwe i OK. Ale z drugiej strony brakuje mi Zofki, która za mną tęskniła, która pytała mnie, kiedy wrócę, która mówiła mi, że mnie kocha i że jestem jej skarbem i która mówiła mi, że jesteśmy ze sobą tak związane, jak siostry. 
Moje uczucia, kiedy rozpaczliwie pragnę, żeby spojrzała na mnie ze zrozumieniem, miłością, oczami pełnymi zmartwienia, że znowu musieliśmy przejechać tyle kilometrów, są bardzo egoistyczne. Ale gdybym mogła spełnić jedno życzenie, wybrałabym właśnie to. Ponieważ, kiedy widzę ją po kilku miesiącach przerwy i zauważam postępy jej choroby, czuję się, jakbym dostała bardzo mocno w twarz. 
Jest mi przykro, że nie mogę z nią być, jest mi przykro, że znika powoli z tego świata i asystują jej przy tym kobiety, których to w ogóle nie obchodzi. Jest mi przykro, że nie mogłam odwdzięczyć się za wszystko, co dla mnie zrobiła. Jest mi przykro, że ona mnie wychowała, a ja zostawiłam ją, żeby zająć się własnym życiem. Jest mi przykro, że któregoś dnia dowiem się przez telefon, że osoba, która była dla mnie centrum wszechświata, przestała oddychać i nikt z jej najbliższych nie był przy niej i nie trzymał jej za ręki. Ale jest przynajmniej jedna rzecz, która mnie cieszy, widok jej oczu, które rozpalają się mocno za każdym razem, kiedy patrzy na Małego L. i to ja dałam życie tej małej osobie, która w pewnym sensie jest też kontynuacją jej samej i która przynosi jej tyle radości. 


KOCHAM CIĘ Zofka jak stąd na księżyc i z powrotem.


PS. Przykro mi, że wrzucam zdjęcia z Lisbony w tak smutnej atmosferze, ale muszę pożegnać dzisiaj Zofkę i naprawdę się martwię…
Z Kralik.

Tłumaczenie: Weronika Makowska

 

From Kraliky

 

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To Lisbon

 

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Zofka

Zofka

 

 

Visits of my family in Kraliky are always happening according to more or less the same scheme. It starts with a hectic arrival. We usually arrive exhausted after a long drive, every single centimetre of our car packed with crap we carry around with us from place to place. We finally get of all stiff and distorted, Mr.T starts off with running around wild and free hunting for neighbours cats, Mr.B also running back and forth unpacking the car, bags hanging all over him, I walk around with Little L in my arms talking to at least three people at the same time while one of those people is Zofka, and talking to Zofka means screaming very loud and very close to her left ear. After we settle a little bit, I inhale and exhale crispy mountain air and walk around for two days in my pyjamas there comes the time for family drama. The fact that it is actually a meeting of people who are not used to living under one roof anymore always causes some sort of disaster.  Why to have it the easy way? Family dramas are a must, at least in my family. There is a little bit of everything, screaming, arguing, screaming, crying and than of course more crying, excusing and hugging. I hate this part of the program from the bottom of my heart but that does not change the fact that it simply has to happen. It can not be any other way.

Well after this emotionally exhausting unavoidable element there is the time of calmness when things get to normal, when we have a chance to develop some sort of routine, go for couple of trips and I get to enjoy the feeling of being embraced by the mountains and birds singing.  And as soon as I start to feel settled and floating on gentle waves of slow life it is time to pack our bags, time for Mr.B to run back and forth again looking like a christmas tree stuffing our belongings into the car and time for me to say good bye to Zofka.

And those good byes are extremely difficult. They have never been easy but they get more and more unbearable with each visit. I look at her face and I wonder if I’ll have a chance to see her smile again. I try to sound jovial, make jokes and a come up with a fair amount of promises of what we will do together next time I’ll come, but during that whole time I am scramming from pain. Each time I come to Kraliky I see a little less of her, she is slowly disappearing. Each time we meet her own world seems to be stronger, it seems to be absorbing her bit by bit and she willingly sinks deeper into the river of her early memories, accompanied by her family members who all passed away already. I want to catch her hand and pull her back so much. I want to scream at her to stop doing it to me, I get angry and disappointed, sad and scared but then at the same time there are moments when I feel in peace. I look at her and I love her more than I ever did before. For everything she has done for us, for how she devoted her whole self to us, for how she always made me feel so sure that she is happy to be raising us and living our lives instead of living her own.

But since Little L was born I don’t only feel endless gratitude towards her, I also feel worship that I could not have felt before. Worship to a women who is not only my grandmother, to a woman who was primarily a mother once, mother of two sons who are not alive. Worship to a mother who over lived one son dying when he was just little bit younger than Leo, and than another son dying tragically when he was 20. I always knew her life was not easy since she was a small child and I knew she had to burry her two children but that was all beyond my perception. I saw my grandmother who was happy living with us her grandchildren. But now I see a mother in her at the first place, and even though I can’t possibly understand the pain she had to go through my imagination – imagination of a mother – is now much more vivid and I get dizzy when I only think of what happened to her and she made it without loosing her sanity. And those are the moments when I am in the peace. Moments when I don’t want to drag her, to pull her back no matter what, to keep her here for myself, to own her. I feel that I have to learn how to let her go to the place where she has to go.

Each time I am leaving from Kraliky I am saying good bye to Zofka and I hope I’ll have a chance to tell her hello again.  I know I will.

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Wyjazdy do mojej rodziny w Kalikach zawsze odbywają się zgodnie z mniej więcej takim samym rytuałem. Zaczyna się od przyjazdu w gorączkowej atmosferze. Zwykle jesteśmy wykończeni długą jazdą, każdy centymetr auta jest wypełniony badziewiem, które wozimy ze sobą. W końcu wysiadamy, cali sztywni i powykręcani, Pan T. wystrzela z samochodu i biega swobodny i nieokiełznany polując na okoliczne koty, Pan B. też biega w tę i z powrotem obwieszony torbami, ja chodzę dookoła z Małym L na rękach rozmawiając z co najmniej trzema osobami naraz i zawsze jedną z tych trzech osób jest Zofka, a rozmowa z Zofką oznacza, że krzyczę jej prosto do lewego ucha. Gdy już wszystko się trochę uspokoi, oddycham świeżym górskim powietrzem i chodzę przez dwa dni w piżamie, po czym przychodzi czas na rodzinny dramat. To, że odzwyczailiśmy się już od życia pod jednym dachem zawsze przyczynia się do jakiejś katastrofy. Po co niby mielibyśmy wybierać łatwe rozwiązania? Dramaty rodzinne to stały punkt programu, przynajmniej w mojej rodzinie. Wszystkiego po trochu: krzyk, kłótnie, krzyk, płacz, po czym następuje oczywiście jeszcze więcej płaczu, przeprosiny i uściski. Nie znoszę tego z głębi serca, lecz nie zmienia to faktu, że bez tego się nie obejdzie. Nie ma innej możliwości. 

Cóż, po tym emocjonalnie wyczerpującym i nieuniknionym elemencie nadchodzi czas spokoju, gdy wszystko wraca do normy, gdy jest szansa wejścia w pewną rutynę, można wybrać się na kilka wycieczek i cieszyć się otoczeniem gór i śpiewem ptaków. Zaraz po tym, jak poczuję ten spokój i zaczynam unosić się na łagodnych falach powolnego życia, przychodzi czas na spakowanie toreb, Pan B. biega w tę i z powrotem obwieszony jak choinka i upycha nasze rzeczy do samochodu a ja muszę pożegnać się z Zofką. 

Te pożegnania są bardzo trudne. Nigdy nie były łatwe, ale teraz z każdą wizytą stają się coraz trudniejsze do zniesienia. Patrzę na jej twarz i zastanawiam się, czy jeszcze kiedyś przyjdzie mi zobaczyć jej uśmiech. Staram się robić wrażenie jowialnej, żartuję i planuję mnóstwo rzeczy, które zrobimy kiedy przyjadę następnym razem, lecz przez cały ten czas ból powoduje, że chcę uciekać. Za każdym razem, gdy odwiedzam Kraliky widzę ją trochę mniejszą, jakby powoli znikała. Za każdym razem gdy się widzimy, jej świat zdaje się być silniejszym, jakby pochłaniał ją po kawałku, a ona rozmyślnie pogrąża się w rzece dawnych wspomnień, w towarzystwie członków rodziny którzy już odeszli. Tak bardzo chcę pochwycić jej myśli i wyciągnąć ją stamtąd. Chcę na nią nakrzyczeć, żeby przestała mi to robić, robię się zła i rozczarowana, smutna i przerażona, ale jednocześnie nadchodzą chwile, gdy odczuwam spokój. Patrzę na nią i kocham ją bardziej, niż kiedykolwiek. Za wszystko, co dla nas zrobiła, za to, jak poświęciła dla nas całe swoje życie, za to, jak zawsze dawała mi pewność, że jest szczęśliwa, że wychowuje nas i że żyje naszym życiem, zamiast swoim własnym.

Teraz, gdy urodził się Mały L, czuję do niej nie tylko nieskończoną wdzięczność, ale również szacunek którego nie mogłam czuć wcześniej. Szacunek do kobiety, która nie tylko jest moją babcią, ale kobiety, która kiedyś była matką, matką dwóch synów, już nieżyjących. Szacunek dla matki, która przeżyła jednego syna, który był trochę starszy od Leo, a potem drugiego, który zmarł tragicznie gdy miał 20 lat. Zawsze wiedziałam, że nie miała łatwego życia od dzieciństwa i wiedziałam, że musiała pochować dwójkę własnych dzieci, lecz było to poza możliwościami mojej percepcji. Widziałam moją babcię, która była szczęśliwa mogąc żyć z nami, jej wnukami. Lecz teraz widzę w niej przede wszystkim matkę, i nawet pomimo tego, że absolutnie nie jestem w stanie wyobrazić sobie, przez jaki ból musiała przejść, moja wyobraźnia – wyobraźnia matki – jest teraz o wiele bardziej żywa i robi mi się słabo myśląc o tym, przez co musiała przejść. I właśnie w takich chwilach odczuwam spokój. Chwilach, gdy nie chcę jej za sobą ciągnąć, bez względu na wszystko, żeby mieć ją dla siebie, żeby ją posiadać. Czuję, że muszę się nauczyć, jak pozwolić jej odejść tam, dokąd musi się wybrać.

Za każdym razem, gdy opuszczam Kraliky, żegnam się z Zofką i mam nadzieję, że zobaczę ją jeszcze raz. Wiem, że tak będzie.

 

 
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6 months

6 months

 

It is almost one week since we celebrated Little L’s first small anniversary. I have never been aware of time passing as much as I am now. Past 6 months have gone so fast and so slowly at the same time. My own perception of time has changed so much. I’ve experienced minutes that seemed to be hours, and days that seemed to be seconds. Little L turned my whole life upside down.

One would expect that after waking up next to Little L 174 times I should be pretty much used to it. But I am not. Sometimes when I hold him in my arms I get this strong feeling that is hard to describe. I feel shocked, surprised, terrified, happy that I am a mother and he is my son and that it is perfectly real and it will never change. Other times during our walks when I look at him so peacefully resting I feel almost physical pain caused by an enormous amount of fear that paralyses my whole body. There is this little person that I will be worried about every day for the rest of my life. Every single moment in my unconscious there will be fear if he is ok, if he is healthy and if he does not suffer in any way. I realise how helpless I am, how many things out there I can not influence or change. I realise that all I can do is be there for him and the rest will happen in front of my eyes as a theatre play.

Past six months have been beautiful, intense, overwhelming, difficult, confusing. I stared to question everything much more than before. Making decision is not that easy anymore. Suddenly every litte thing seems to have bigger meaning. I am not responsible for myself only, I influence another life. This little person will be experiencing life through me for the first years, I will be middle of his universe. I feel the need, the necessity to do things right, to show him right, to teach him right whatever that right might mean, cause who is to decide.

I am wondering if one can ever get used to being a mother, a parent. For me its is so new every morning I wake up. Just like  Little L is changing every day, he discovers something new every day, he learns something new every day, I look at him and this simple statement “I am your mother” becomes so overwhelmingly meaningful that it fills up the room and takes us on a new ride.

 

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Breast feeding and Birds

Breast feeding and Birds

  

I have been wanting to write this post for so long. I was dreaming about it. I planed to do it before Christmas, than during Christmas, than I thought I would post it on 31.12 or maybe 1.1. but I just was not able to take that time. To steal one uninterrupted hour, without beeping of finished washing machine program, barking of Mr.T, crying of Little L., without having to look at pile of clothes waiting to be ironed, diapers waiting to be washed, Mr.T’s hair on the floor screaming to be vacuumed. All those things that have to be done in short breaks when Little L. has successfully finished his visit in milky bar and fell asleep.
Now when it looks like this may be THAT one hour (there is still clothes waiting to be ironed, and full washing machine waiting to be turned on, and Mr.T will probably bark within next 5 minutes) – lets say almost uninterrupted hour I can’t remember what I actually planed to say. To be focused and concentrated exactly when that short moment of peace happens is quite impossible. I feel as I would probably feel if I was a man and I would be expected to have erection on demand – impossible – and I chose this comparison because I don’t even want to talk about mental possibilities but it looks like physical ones stand even more the way.
As soon as THE short moment of peace happens I feel like falling asleep right away…my body stops listening to me and requests to fill up the missing gas. It is not saying that Little L. is a difficult baby,not at all,but time management is different and I find it sometimes difficult to divide the rests of my free time when Little L. sleeps between Mr.T, my family, things I have to do and thing I want to do – the last ones always loose :)

Days are passing by and I see Little L. growing into small person that is not a veggie anymore…He starts to laugh a lot and I love to wake up next to him and see his smile first thing in the morning…A lot of things changed for us, for me…I start loving being a mother…I am not nervous any more about everything that I can’t do…I am not nervous about constant lack of time and days filled with repeated actions…I feel like a helpless observer when looking at Little L….he is changing daily…he is growing at ultra fast speed and only through him I am now able to understand passing of time…I know everything will be different in month, in half a year or in one year and I will miss these moments so much…moments of him being so taintlessly and absolutely dependent on us…A lot of things changed….the worse fear I had before giving a birth was me breast feeding…It was my secret night mare..I was googling any kind of information about women who refuse to breast feed because they don’t feel comfortable about it…I just could not imagine it happen…My breast were for my whole adult life a synonym for sexuality and now they were about to change their designation and a small human being was supposed to suck them all day long…HOW????….I desperately needed to know that it is OK not to be into breast feeding in the times when women fight for society to accept public breast feeding as something normal…and here I am, two months after giving birth breast feeding and what more…I find it absolutely beautiful…it’s the time when me any Little L. are completely detached from rest of the world and closed in our own bubble…I see him calming down, feeling secure, holding my finger and examining my face over and over…I love those moment and that incredible bond that it creates between us…

This year was actually the first time that I was sort of thinking about making some sort of resolutions for coming year…and surprisingly it has nothing to do with the need and necessity to plan that is essential when having a baby….my urge for resolution appeared while watching Winged Migration…I know it is an old movie, but I was never able to watch it as there are birds dying…this year I watched the movie while breast feeding Little L….it seemed as good time to give it a try and I was hypnotized…completely and absolutely…paralyzed by by the beauty and perfection of the nature…the majesty and flawlessness of birds…and the combination of those two was breath taking….and than comes the human to the picture and everything is fucked up…each trace of human action is like a black depressive cloud full of shit….humans and their creations their greed their ignorance their arrogance and ability to damage and devastate…many times I feel ashamed for human race…many times I wish they were not given a chance to spoil such beautiful place…but there are moments when I feel hate, strong extreme hate…and watching Winged Migration was one of them..I felt I need to do more, much more, to change more in my life…not that it would change the world but it would make me feel better about myself…it would make it easier for me to live with the fact that I am also contributing to destruction of nature by the way I live….So my resolution was to find ways how to lower the negative side effects of my being here…I plan to cut down buying crap, I plan to be more precise when it comes to choosing products I use…we already use only not tested cosmetics and cleaning products, but there is still place where I have to be more aware of what I use and choose, I plan to go more for second hand chooses when possible, I plan not to buy shoes, clothes this year, I plan to take some plastic bags when we go out for walks in the nature and pick up the shit that people leave behind…I simply plan to be more aware of my actions than I was until now…And I plan to illustrate a book for Litte L.

  

Little L is 9 weeks old today…in his short life he spent first 3 weeks in Warszaw, next 3 weeks in Klodzko, now 3 weeks in Slovakia and we are already packing to move a bit more south to Vienna…we make him live the way we live which means to constantly move between three places, three countries…just as I did for last 5 years without knowing which one is actually “home” and I already resigned on actually trying to define one of those places as my home…I don’t have that need anymore…the need to attach to one place, to imaginary strike my roots somewhere…my home is where Mr.B, Mr.T and now Little L is…and we have loads of travel plans for near future…dear Little man I hope u don’t mind :)PS: Some of these photos are taken from my INSTAGRAM account, so I apologize to those of you who have seen them already

  

still pregnant but back

still pregnant but back

  

I remember very well the day I found out that I was pregnant ( or as some say we were pregnant, even though I believe that couple is expecting a child but pregnant is only one of them ). It was 14th of february. Romantic connection is truly just a coincidence. We were taking shinkansen on our way to Beppu in Japan. I love traveling by trains and never really had a problem with one….well besides the night train with broken heating on the way from Vienna to Warszaw when the outside temperature dropped to minus 20. But if you ever were so lucky to travel by trains in Japan u know that its a synonym for comfort, hygiene and well organized EVERYTHING. So it really shocked me that I felt as if I was dying during that quiet, not shaky trip….I could actually feel every little movement of the train and each tiny “shake” made me wanna throw my stomach out. I knew something was wrong and it was not food poisoning. On the way from station to our ryokan we bought a test. Whatever the japanese letters meant, I could count those two lines and did not need a special translator. It was a shock. I know that may sound stupid as we both are old enough to know how to protect ourselves from pregnancy, but based on our almost 3 years experience we sort of understood that we can not have kids and took it as a fact. And here I am with a positive pregnancy test and confusion in my head….at that moment I could hear Mr.B’s brain working hard, just as hard as mine. Anyway I don’t believe that this is the most interesting story in the world so to make it shorter. I went through period of initial shock, to the period of not quite understanding or admitting the situation, to the moments when I even forgot about it for a short time until I physically started to feel miserable. I had one week in Vienna when I was in the bed without any possibility to move, as each movement was equal to such sort of dizziness which I never experienced before. I suppose I fought in a normal extent the most known symptoms of pregnancy except for puking. THNAK GOD, because I hate puking, I could never suffer from any eating disorder as my hater for puking is so strong that even when I really have to puke my body denies it and I can’t. During the time when I felt really really really tired and my day shrunk to 5 fully valued hours I was thinking that maybe I should use those moments when I m not moving just lying in the bed and start writing about pregnancy. But that was a bad idea, which I realized within one hour. I am just not the type. Up to now we ignored all the pregnancy books, shops for babies, internet pregnancy forums…I was for very long – till the last possible moment ignoring pregnancy clothes which I find terribly unesthetical. ( I do have some pregnancy shirts already as I am really growing bigger and bigger every day ) Well what should I than write about in terms of pregnancy. I just took it as a fact and as soon as I felt my energy coming back I lived my days as before. Finished semester in Vienna, packed all my belongings to boxes and send them on a trip with Mr.B to exotic place called Warszaw. I did a major cleaning of the flat I lived in for almost 6 years, which included washing huge glass doors and wall panels. I survived and accident when one of those glass doors fell out of the door runner rail and 200kg fell straight on me, my belly and tree huge flowerpots that kept the door 40 cm above the ground so I could “easily” crawl from below them. Simply said I did everything as before apart from continuing my blog. I could not because I felt that I should probably write something about our changing life situation but I was not sure what should that be. Now I’m sitting in Warszaw. It took me two weeks, to unpack, organize, clean, organize, clean and organize all the crap one collects. Mr.B is out of town working, Mr.T is slowed down as he thinks it’s to hot and I am pregnant just as I was one or three months ago. But I just felt that it’s a point for me to start blogging again, to start doing whatever again as time goes by really fast and I don’t have much left before giving birth to Mr.Little who as I heard might be sort of time consuming at the beginning. To begin with after the long break I’ll just post a mix of photos from last months. Sorry to those of you who’ve seen them on instagram….but did I mention already that pregnancy sort of paralyzed me for some time and I was not taking consciously any photos…….

PS1: I want to thank to all of you who still follow me on FB page even though I was not active for past months. I want to thank veeeerrrry much to all those who wrote me private messages and who probably did not even realize how important that was for me….reading that people appreciate things I do in the time when I don’t do any is really crazy helping !!!!!

PS2: There are two polish words I can’t stand from the bottom of my heart : ciężarna – which is the same as if somebody called me ciężarowka, which I know I am but don’t have to be reminded of that. dzidziuś – thats really disaster

PS3: I had to add this one as an explanation. I was asked why I’m ignoring literature about pregnancy…..OMG don’t get me wrong..It’s by far not because I am super hero woman who thinks its cool to not ready pregnancy books or read forums and has all the necessary wisdom and knowledge. ON THE CONTRARY, I am freaking out from how much I don’t know….I don’t know when kids start to talk or walk, if somebody told me that this miracles happens at the age of 3 I would completely take it as fact just as much as I would take it as a fact if somebody told me that one year old people discuss, walk and pee in the toilette. If I am to say the age of a child I use a hand gesture showing the kids approximate hight because I cant say if the kid is two or four….I’m not joking now…I have not been around small kids very often, actually I’ve met some person to person only couple of times in my life. So I’m not a hero here, but I DO HATE how pregnant woman becomes automatically a separate category. Its not female and male anymore. It’s female, male and pregnant woman! And based on my seven months experience I do feel I know what I’m talking about. First it starts with the shock that people you hardly know, people you’ve seen once or twice in your life, people who know your mother or people who you don’t know at all approach you and touch your belly first. WHY? It’s like my belly was not part of me anymore…it is some sort of public belonging, it’s something that has been mounted to my body and I am now to carry it but it belongs to everybody. Than it continues when you stand in the line in the shop checking out the veggies waiting for your happy turn, and there they go, all the women who are waiting in the same line start to talk about you. Is it a boy, is it a girl, how you should dress, what you should eat, what you should drink and how your belly looks. It is up, it is down, it is sticking out too much or it is spreading more to the sides. And u are standing there with this public property mounted to your body, you are sweating like crazy, you need to pee NOW and you know you still have couple of months of this “being a subject” situation ahead of you. And the last thing that gets you is the literature. Why is it that pregnant means automatically usage of different language….probably it is meant as a preparation for small baby talks…don’t know…but suddenly the use of diminutives is massive and everything becomes pink or blue, its all about how you should feel, how the confused future daddy should feel, how you are not you anymore but you are a kangaroo – soon to be a mother – new category again, how you stop existing because you are about to bring a new person to the world which means that for some time you are vanishing and you are not important anymore….All sort of strange new words that I’ve never heard before are used to describe your little one – meaning the new person that grows inside of you, all sorts of things you NEED to – in better case – know….but most of the time fear. All the things you NEED to buy, such blanket, such chair, such electronic babysitter or maybe breathing baby monitor or, or, or…..Pregnancy stops being natural and becomes a commodity. That is why I ignore pregnancy literature….I sort of believe in my body’s natural potential and ability to deal with pregnancy, and in mine that I will be able to deal with the newborn kid and I will not need to spend thousands on necessary items that will become unnecessary thrash in couple of months and I do hope that my ability to speak common language will remain more or less the same.
  

 

Kraliky

Kraliky

  

Days in Kraliky are so different from the rest…feeling of “time” is different here, as well as feeling of space….Maybe its Zofka, her daily routine which repeats each time I am here, weather it is winter or summer, weather its raining or snowing…she does everything minute by minute..and every single minute is important and counts…when I watch her I somehow more realize the passing of time…its strange when I see that last month, last week, last half year are vague descriptions of time which are not of such importance as this particular moment…for her past starting from today is all melted in one…one mess of informations and actions, but NOW, NOW is important…..but its not just her…also the village seems to be the same each time I come here…one street, zero people and sunset – sunrise – sunset – sunrise….Tomorrow we’r driving Mr.T to my uncle’s and then another story begins
  

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I don't want my life to be a reason for other's life to be a suffering that is why I am vegan and that is how I want to raise my son. I love my little family, birds, rainy days and life on the road. I believe in life before death :).


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