Chapter Text
Søren was sitting in the computer nook with Jonas. The lazy spring sun was starting to drift towards the horizon, and promised to shine directly into their apartment until after they were finished with dinner. It looked as bloated as Søren felt. He put down what he was working on; there was no rush. He wasn't knitting, surprisingly, but sewing the last seam of a pillow.
"You know, the ONE good thing about this bump is that I can't contort myself into a shrimp pose like I usually would," Søren said.
"Is that why your back always hurt before you got this big?" Jonas quipped without looking away from the computer. "I thought it was from twerking."
"No, I was just testing you to see if you would give me a massage."
"My neck's kinda sore." Jonas spun around, his mustache perched atop a shit-eating grin. "Mind warming up my muscles with that freaky long tongue of yours?"
"What have you been doing for the last hour, anyway?" Søren asked as he tied off the thread. "You're not wearing headphones, so it's not work."
"I'm shopping for a pram or a stroller, because we somehow haven't done that yet."
"Do you have any favorites?"
"This one seems like the best," Jonas said, rolling aside to reveal a sporty black model. "We'd need a mosquito net, though. My kid's gonna nap in the cold, but I draw the line at getting eaten alive by mosquitoes."
Søren half-stood to get a better look, which was an event, given his current size.
"My parents will say it's not nearly big enough."
"What do you mean?"
"In Denmark, a pram being 'big enough' means, like, the equivalent of a Queen-sized bed for a baby. If you have to carry the diaper bag instead of putting it in with the baby, it's too small."
"Wow. Should we just get a cargo bike with a big tub in the front, that we can use for years after?"
"Funny." Søren wiped off his glasses. "What if we got a tandem cargo bike? Is there such a thing?"
"Oh, suuure," Jonas said, spinning a quarter turn back and forth in the desk chair. "You and me careening around on a bike, using our child as a battering ram."
"Okay, but are you against getting a cargo bike at all, even a few years from now?"
"Of course not. I'm not ruling anything out. But shouldn't we see how much they cost before we dream too big?"
"Go for it."
Jonas rolled back in front of the computer.
"Holy shit...six thousand euros?!" Jonas exclaimed. "Where's that guy who bet on you winning DMGP when you need him?"
"That's because you clicked on the first result," Søren pointed for Jonas to click back to the search results. "It's an ad."
"Okay, Mr. Not-Dinosaur."
"Look, that website is a Danish brand! And they've been around since the eighties...maybe this is the kind my parents bought!"
"Were they sixteen hundred euros in the eighties, too?" Jonas asked. "I know we said we wouldn't ask our friends to buy baby stuff as a 'gift,' but this might be where we have to reconsider."
"Our Eurovision friends, specifically?" Søren sat back down and began putting his sewing supplies away. "They don't really have money, and there aren't many I feel close enough with to ask directly."
"Who are you close enough with? Who're our baby's sponsors?!"
"Isn't that what godparents are?"
"Then who are the godparents?"
"JJ was one of my first Eurovision friends, and we wouldn't have met if it weren't for him."
"I hope you don't assume he has money, cause he lives with his parents..." Jonas was starting a document. "...but sure..."
"Daniel is basically our son already, so he can be, like, a god-cousin."
"And we have to include Cosmó, our 'nephew.'"
"He's less of a godparent and more of a...patron saint. " Søren brushed a handful of thread scraps into the wastebasket. "What about Eva Marija?"
"She's a fairy godmother, if I ever saw one."
"I just don't trust all these men to take care of things if we both die."
"Do we really need a godmother and a godfather? Like, our baby already doesn't need a mother, let alone a replacement mother."
"Well I at least want the pastiche of gender equality. It'd be weird if we were like 'Here are our closest friends: They're all men!'"
"Alright."
"So add Leléka and Delta to the list, too, to make it more balanced."
"This list is getting pretty crowded. What are you suggesting? A god-village? God Cast? Commune?"
"We can have two main godparents, then a bunch of swings."
"'Swings?' I'm not ready for all that drama, Søren."
"No, not like that, you perve! It's a theater term. An understudy is prepared to cover a main role, but a swing is usually an ensemble member who knows how to cover multiple smaller roles, depending on what's needed."
"And how do we inform them of this responsibility? I don't imagine you want to have a baptism."
"No, but I still want to have some kind of function, where we can introduce the baby to our friends."
"I've heard of some Humanist organizations having 'Name Parties.' Basically whatever little ceremony you might want, wherever you want."
"We also have this thing called barselskoffe. Just a time for the parents' coworkers to stop by and meet the baby. Sometimes it's held before they take leave, instead. At the office, I mean."
"I think my parents may have done something like that for their coworkers occasionally."
"Probably. Did they bring a cake shaped like a baby, though?"
"That might be a Denmark exclusive."
"Here's another little thing: Some of my old classmates said that after they had their baby last year, the nurses brought in a bunch of snacks with...you know how Nordics like to use our flags as birthday decorations, for some reason?...with a little Danish flag on top. For the zero-eth birthday!"
"That's so cute!" Jonas planted a kiss on Søren's forehead. "Just like you."
"I'm glad you like the idea. I just want to have something specifically for our Eurovision family to meet the baby they inspired."
"Only after you've recovered. And if there are no major complications. I couldn't bear for your or the baby to get sick or hurt because you were so eager to please."
"Of course."
After that, Jonas went back to working on their running list of godparents. Søren sighed. He tucked his sewing kit into its place on the bookshelf beside them. To his surprise (and mild disappointment), he hadn't really knit anything for the baby yet. When he first found out he was pregnant, his instinct was to start knitting a whole wardrobe, but Jonas talked him down from that. ("We're both tall, so the baby might not fit Newborn size," he argued. "It would be like that sad story. Cute little booties: never worn. Baby: absolutely jacked.")
"Can you help me get up? My hands are full..." Søren held out the beige throw pillow with both hands. "I just don't want to stumble and knock anything over when I can't catch myself."
"Sure, Sø. And I don't mean 'Sø' like short for your name," Jonas said, pulling Søren up by his forearms. "I mean 'Sø' as in 'lake,' because you're as big as a lake."
"Keep that up and you'll be sørry." Søren swatted Jonas in the chest with the pillow.
Jonas shoved it back in his face, causing the two of them to bump into the keyboard that cut off the nook from the rest of the flat.
"Once the baby comes, we have to figure out a better way to arrange our work stuff."
"You say that like we'll have more time then," Søren rebutted.
It would have made sense to set up their shared home office/studio in the second bedroom, but that was no longer an option.
"It'll at least stop us from fussing over their fucking room," Jonas grumbled as he slid Søren's basket of yarn aside with his foot. "And give you an incentive to get your shit out of reach."
"And give you a reason to not swear at me so much, you clown bastard."
~
After months of love, and some half-sincere arguing, nursery was nearly complete.
The walls and wainscoting were painted taupe, but the room was not devoid of color. Not at all. Every other square panel had a little painted bird in blue, green, orange, or lavender. There were swans, puffins, dippers, and skylarks. The wooden furniture was painted either cream or a refreshing teal, with thin green or lavender lines running parallel to the edges. Originally, both Søren and Jonas were stenciling on the bird designs, but Jonas was not very neat. So Søren had said, "If you're going to be so straight about it, go paint some actual straight lines." Jonas responded by covering an entire leg of the changing table with Keith Haring-type squiggles.
There was a window seat with a tawny cushion and, because the building was old, a leaded glass window made up of charming little panes. This was in the middle of the left wall as one entered. The dresser and bookshelf were in the near left corner, with the changing table to the right. Between the window and the far wall was a rocking chair.
As soon as they had bought the rocking chair, Søren decided it would be the place of honor for his most ambitious project yet. He began to teach himself some embroidery stitches to make something special for the nursery. It took less tension and muscle memory than knitting, but he found himself redoing sections over and over until the cloth was more holes than thread. Then came a trip to buy muslin, then HeatnBond so there wouldn't be a stitched square around the design, then figuring out how to actually use HeatnBond...Søren had never been such a perfectionist, or "so anal," as Jonas teased with a wink.
But at the end of it all, he had his trophy: a pillow ornamented with a kingfisher for himself and a dove for Jonas,* preening each other encircled by a wreath of daisies and heather.
Søren knelt down as he placed the pillow on the rocker. He liked to sit on that withered-rose-colored rug and imagine seeing this room from their child's point of view. At first it would just be the ceiling. And tummy time, of course. But then he and Jonas would have to baby-proof everything as their child began to crawl, then walk. Søren imagined himself pointing at one of the birds on the lower wall and identity it as en fugl. Could that be the baby's first word? Or would it be a specific type? Jonas had thought the idea was silly when Søren asked it aloud, but Søren couldn't help but imagine it every time he looked around the nest they created.
Søren tried to stand up. The muscles in his back twitched with the firey ache that bloomed across them.
"Augh!"
"Are you okay?!" Jonas dove to catch Søren in case he fell in any direction.
Søren didn't say anything in response. Jonas leaned in with a face full of worry, expecting to see Søren fainted or worse. But Søren was fully conscious. And crying.
"What's wrong?!" Jonas ran through a list of scenarios as Søren's silent grimace filled with more and more anguish. "Does it hurt that bad, or is there something wrong...internally?"
Søren shook his head. "It's just-" Speaking caused his voice to break and the floodgates opened. "I-I-I..You're gonna think I'm stupid."
"'I-I-I ' don't think you could ever make me think less of you."
"It's just-" Søren sniffed and took a breath. "It's just...I hate my body when I'm like this. Like, not even just my appearance. I mean, like you said, I'm the size of a lake, but I can't function anymore! It's like I'm just an incubator and not a person!"
Jonas didn't respond, but sat next to Søren and rubbed his back.
"An- and I know it's not forever, but after THIS is done, we'll be parents," Søren sobbed. "THAT'S how people will see us forever: 'Look, there go so-and-so's dads,' or 'they're the ones from the class of '26 that had a baby'!"
Jonas looked around at the walls as if he might find the answer there. It felt like they were closing in. The little painted details he and Søren had so lovingly added suddenly made the room seem too busy. They were going to become very familiar with this room, every inch of it. They were going to get sick of this room. They might even get sick of each other.
"Listen, Søren," Jonas soothed, pulling Søren's heavy body as much onto his own lap as was possible. "I will never, ever stop seeing YOU. Even if you change, when you change, I'm still going to see that moody little firecracker I hugged in the airport bathroom in Amsterdam. And I'll keep falling in love with you, no matter how many times or how much you change."
Søren wiped his nose on his sweater and looked up at Jonas. His dark eyes were so big, so watery, so trusting.
"Promise?"
"Yes. I'll do you one better: It's gonna be-" Jonas to finished the sentence by bringing his fist down on the open palm of his other hand. He made an explosion sound with his mouth on impact. "And you've still got the fattest ass of anyone I've ever met." Søren laughed.
"Aw, what about these?" Søren gave an exaggerated pout, showing off his pert lips.
"Hey, no one likes their Danish princes sad. There was this one guy: he was so sad, everyone around him died."
The two of them sat in silence for a time, watching the sunlight travel across the blank wall next to them. It was Søren who eventually broke the silence.
"I can't believe we still don't have a crib." Søren flicked his hand towards the empty space with an eye hook in the ceiling above it.
"Wasn't that your special mission this week?" Jonas asked. Most of the furniture was thrifted and cobbled together, but he and Søren determined that a crib, specifically, was important enough to buy new.
"It was," Søren whined. "But I couldn't decide. Like, what wood finish? Or untreated? And should we get one that can turn into a toddler bed, or should we get a low Montessori-style toddler bed?"
"Oh."
"But really I just thought it was to important and special to do without you."
"That's fine. They can sleep in a box like a little Finnish baby."
They sat in silence a few moments more.
"That reminds me," Jonas said as he stood up. "I was about to show you this...Close your eyes."
Jonas produced a nondescript box, then spent far too long rummaging through the tissue paper within. He shook the last remaining scraps of packaging from his prize, then placed it in Søren's outstretched hand.
"Okay, now look."
Søren gasped. What he held was a mobile to go above the baby's crib. Not just any mobile. Part-mobile, part-sun catcher. He held it up to the window. Droplets of smooth sea glass and faceted crystals cast ripples of amber and rainbow light around the room.
"It- Jonas, it's perfect," Søren breathed.
"I wanted to give you a little bit of your 'sunset room,' cause I vetoed painting the whole nursery orange like your loony bin situation."
" Now you're talking like a fugl."