​In the garden at my mother's house I have taken out an old rocking horse. It's a wooden rocking horse from the 50's, that had seen better days when I first got it. The rocking horse is a renovation project that was started last fall, but was put on hold. Now it has been brought back out again this summer, due to a growing expecation. In less than 3 weeks, there is a new check-up at the rheumatologist and one particular question is on my mind. Can I book a new appointment in Denmark this fall?

A little over a year ago, I sat and watched excitedly when the Storting voted to change  the Biotechnology law. Leading up to the vote, one could see in the comment sections that this is a controversial topic for some. The changes made it possible for single women to get fertility treatment in Norway. The passing of this particular point in the new law was the most uncertain. When the new law was passed on 08.06.2020, I was already in the process with a fertility clinic in Denmark, but  extremely happy this would now also be allowed in Norway.

Deciding to become a solomum is a process, and not something taken lightly. The idea of ​​the traditional family is strong and is something you almost take for granted will happen by at some point. But life can not be coerced into neatly arranged plans. Initially, I thought to myself that if I had not met the man of my dreams when I was 35, I would do it on my own. But it would take another 2 years before the idea was fully matured and the choice was made. Naive, as you are, you think that when the choice is made the rest will follow suit. But nature is fickle and 3 attempts later I was still not pregnant. I had not imagined I would have a lupus-shaped hill to climb. Some doomsday prophets from the comment section will say that it's nature's revenge and that I got what I deserved. In one of my darkest prednisolone moments, I was thinking the same .. But no one is guaranteed a life free from sickness and death, not even those who form a family in the "normal" way.

Fortunately, today there is room for many types of families and with all the support and encouragement I have from the people around me, this will  turn out just fine. While the rocking horse is getting the first layer of adhesive primer, I cross my fingers and hope for a thumbs up from the rheumatologist.

​I'm lying in my sleepingbag looking out of the tent opening. Waiting for the sun's warm rays to hit and dry up the night's dewdrops. In the awning is a coffee cup. There is no rush to get out of the sleepingbag. There is no urgency on this trip, no deadline to get started. There is no peak to climb, no ridge to be crossed, no timelines or deadlines.  Only my mom and I on a mountain hike. A mountain hike in at a slightly lower pace. With waffles on the primus stove and sun on our faces. Like the snail, we have our house on our backs, and at a similar pace we will move down from Sognefjellshytta, through Utladalen and back to the car in Hjelle.

The pill alarm goes off and I reach for the pillbox in the top lid of my backpack. The alarm goes off twice a day and is an absolutel necessity when everyday routines are replaced by carefree vacation days. It's surprisingly easy to forget my medication, now that I'm feeling so healthy. On the way to Hjelle, I discovered that the morning dose had been completely forgotten and ended up with corticosteoroid in the evening instead of breakfast. It probably did not make it any easier to fall asleep in the car. So when the pills are now easily accessible as the alarm goes off, just pull them in.

We take in the mighty landscape as we stroll down the lush valley. There's nothing to be achieved, no rush. There's time for a morning swim in the river, to notice all the butterflies and bumblebees. Time to enjoy the view of snow- and glacier-clad mountain peaks against clear, blue skies. There's no doubt my mother and I have quite different levels of physical fitness and mountain experience, so in this scenario the roles are a bit reversed. In the same way that my mother has cheered me on throughout my life, I now cheer my mom on through Jotunheimen. With a supportive hand and encouraging words through the toughest parts.

There is something nice about hiking in this way as well. On someone else's terms, seen through somone else's eyes. It makes me look forward to the next check-up at the rheumatologist. Cause this time I will ask if I can make aappointment in Denmark this fall ..

Theres some unread snaps in a Snapchat group. A friend's pregnant belly pops up and the  comment makes me giggle. A friend responds with a picture, she is on her way to ultrasound. Is she pregnant too? She confirms when I ask. In our little group of 3, 2 are now pregnant. If my the next attempt in Denmark had been successful, we would all have been pregnant together .. I´m left with a strangely ambivalent feeling. On the one hand I am superhappy for my friend's great news, on the other hand a wave of envy washes over me. It feels so unfair that my own dream is put on hold. "Well, with the prednisolone I´m getting these days, we'll probably all look pregnant soon." I do not press send on that last comment. I don´t want to put a bittersweet filter on the good news. Right now, my life feels like scenes from a movie, and at the moment it's hard to see if it's a movie with a sad or a happy ending. ​