It’s January in Sweden. All the Christmas lights are gone, but the nights are still long and I really wish that human hibernation was an actual thing, not just my fantasy. Maybe it is because I am 8 months pregnant and huge, the weather is cold and blustery, and the sun passes over head about 8 hours a week. Maybe it is some kind of seasonal depression. All I know is that I am using the excuse that cups full of vanilla ice cream doused in melted peanut butter calm my insane pregnancy heartburn to down at least one every night.
I always think this time in Sweden is the worst. The cozy Christmas candles are looking pretty worn around the edges. Daylight is starting to last a little longer, but not enough to mean you get to wake up to sunshine. The hours between picking kids up from daycare and darkness are too short to actually do anything outdoors for too long.
And I become a whiney annoying bore.
This is why Swedes obsess about the summer. And have silly optimistic ideas that there is no bad weather. I get it. I do. It is just really hard not to whine.
So instead I will be grateful: That I have planned to work most of this month at home. That I am still able to walk my dog around the neighborhood without being in too much pregnancy pain. That my family makes me laugh every day and we spend most of those dark evenings having crazy dance parties around the livingroom. That little Swede sings his way through breakfast in a way that is cute enough to snap me out of my morning grumps.
And that in a few weeks I will be way too busy caring for a newborn to even notice any of this.
Also, until then Little Swede still gets to sled to school – and I am still a bit jealous of that.