Grand Maneuvers August - September 2003 on unexpected hurdles of pregnancy, aircraft, and about our Little Hippo testing our readiness

	Side view of Little Hippo (26 weeks)

	Motherhood Dementia has arrived...

Right at the beginning of this journal I would like to warn you that it will all be about the Little Hippo, so if details of my life while being pregnant don't interest you, feel free to skip it.

I find myself between 2nd and 3rd trimester and I must say it's a really huge change. Despite having digested (not literally, of course) many smart books, neither of them has prepared me for some situations.

• I used to have the idea that during pregnancy I can simply wear "some loose clothes with elastic waist". At this time, my "waist" is located somewhere under my breasts and there are indications it will get worse. Elastic bands roll over my belly and besides that, little Hippo tends to protest them quite vehemently.
• Upon seeing underwear for pregnant women, I felt dizzy. I did not expect that choices are limited to granny's bloomers (with a rubber band - where else - right under the breast line). So far I deal with it wearing very skimpy bikini bottoms, hoping they hold onto my hips. However I am afraid things shall get worse here.
• I'm not picky, but with bras, things already have become worse. I may get either nursing models (with various buttons and clips) - or something remotely resembling assorted military surplus merchandise (I'm thinking tent department). Well, tents are comfortable, though one cannot imagine herself being sexy in them... not a chance.

	I can still fit through our garage door (28 weeks)

• My belly grew practically overnight, which introduced problems with balance. Just try to stuff a large, heavy ball under a T-shirt and squat down. My worst horror story is about having to take a leak at a beach - I smartly hid behind some rocks, but then a huge wave came. Details got a little confusing right there, but I ended up sitting with my naked butt on wet sand, immersed into cold salty water to my waist. Sid had somehow mercifully managed not to make any comment at all.
• I heard somewhere that being pregnant is like carrying around an aquarium on your belly. I would like to add that it is specifically the round kind of fish bowl - unlike with fat gut, little Hippo cannot be compressed in any way, so simple movements like bowing (e.g. if I want to tie my shoelaces or clip my toenails) are no longer possible and I am forced to come up with contortions ready for circus.
• Addition of thirteen pounds shifted me suddenly into the category of "beached whales". Wherever I step, earth shakes; to turn around in bed from one side to another, I could use a crane.
• A "body pillow" has become my most favorite best friend in bed - it's a long overstuffed pillow, which I embrace with my knees, stuff under my belly, and consequently end up wrapped around it. I think I do not need to point out that Sid hates it passionately.
• I would have never thought how much I miss sleeping on my belly.
• I had not expected Motherhood Dementia to arrive this early. I don't know how to explain it otherwise, but for example I can now no longer correctly spell words like "minyster"..
• I had always thought that "pregnancy is no illness", but since I have been pregnant myself, my most favorite sport is lying in bed.
• I had naively anticipated that MY pregnancy will pass without complications and practically by the book. Unfortunately, I was wrong again.

	Alas, it seems that for the rest of my pregnancy, we will have to forego bigger trips and focus on small walks in the neighborhood: Borel Hill

During one lazy Sunday I got a contraction and subsequently began to bleed. I searched my stack of medical papers for emergency numbers (my hospital has a 24 hour service, which will contact an obstetrician currently "on call" - who's on duty, assisting births etc.). The doctor said, it would be best to have myself driven to the hospital where they have all the equipment. After our experience with regular ER where we spent waiting with Sid's sprained ankle for several hours, we packed some books and drove out. "My" hospital is located within the labyrinth of Stanford University; fortunately, the doctor gave me good instructions and double fortunately, I used to take shortcuts across the maze of campus driveways and one way roads while going home from work, hence we found the children's hospital surprisingly fast.

At the reception of the labor and delivery ward, the doctor was already expecting me, while a (male) nurse kept interjecting with some form for me to fill out, and another (female) nurse demanded that I needed to be hooked up to a monitor right away. Considering the fact that in critical situations, I tend to be even less responsive to spoken English than I usually am to spoken Czech (concerning Motherhood Dementia, see above), I let Sid handle more complicated inquires like date of my birth or maiden name, and I let them hustle me away to my room. The nurse issued me another test of my intelligence - a strip of cloth ending with two sleeves and four straps. Like every time before, this time again I did not find an acceptable way to make it into a robe, and I had to opprobriously let the nurse (and Sid who had arrived in the meantime) save my hide.

	During low tide, one can wade among rocks and puddles, where a big ocean left behind many small, interesting plants and critters (e.g. anemones)

Sid, of course, was all the time allowed to stay with me. For that I am quite thankful, to him and to American health care standards. Besides a moral (and mental) support, I appreciate mostly his relaxed attitude, and humor. The nurse smeared my belly with a gel and attached me to an instrument. This took care of the first worry -- little Hippo was very much alive and kicking: he literally began to whack at all the uncomfortable probes. Neither ultrasound, nor any other examination could find a problem, but the nurse had informed me that they would keep me for a while, until they collect more records from the monitor and make sure I have no contractions and the baby maintains a merry existence.

We shortened our while with Sid by talking and filling out forms, which Sid had collected for me at the ward's counter, and I could finally look around and examine the room's arrangement. I expect that you had already concluded that it was a room for a single patient. Largest area was taken by an adjustable, motorized, obstetric bed (Sid can supply more details on request, for he took fancy in this apparatus, and while the nurse was out of the room, he performed some experiments as to what would happen if he pushes a button here and there. The fact that he managed to not dump me onto the floor, must be attributed to beginner's luck). Then there was a monitoring machine, which recorded sounds coming from the fetus, some basic equipment for doctors (rubber gloves, disinfectants etc.), a TV set, telephone, a remote control for lights and signaling to the nurses. Adjacent to the room, there was a small private bathroom with a toilet, sink and a shower. A wall, painted in pastels, held a collapsible cot for the "father". Actually, only the motor bed with white sheets and wires leading from my body reminded us of a fact that we were in a hospital.

	Fighter planes are just separating - over fifty years old Sea Fury flies to the right, while F18 picks up speed and turns left

About an hour later, they came to disconnect me and send me home, saying I was to take it easy for a few days. I must say that in the end I rather enjoyed stopping at the hospital. Not only we practiced a rushed transport, we also now know where to find it and what to do when we get there. I find most impressive the fact that the staff dealt first with the question if I was right and only when we were leaving, they checked also all the questionnaires and details of the kind, why is my name different than my husband's? (our never-ending trouble with Slavic female surname suffix -ová).

Thus on the following week I was taking it easy and did only one informative walk through some baby-stuff stores with Petra a Lucas. Little Lucas was born last winter at the same hospital where we plan to go, hence Petra became a very relevant source of information, for which I am quite grateful. None other of my current friends has a small child, and I had never spontaneously thought about sizes of jumpers (overalls for the British) or prams'/strollers' brand names. There's lot for me in the area of baby care with which I need to catch up.

It seems that given the state of my health we can forget any trips and hikes. For the upcoming weekend, Sid and I picked a physically mild activity - a visit to an Air Show. Two years ago, a similar performance at Moffett Federal Airfield simply took our breath away, last year's presentation seemed somewhat degraded, and the roster this year looked less attractive still, but they were promising a fly-by of F117A Stealth Fighter for Sunday, se we gave in despite repeatedly increased admission fee.

	F117 Stealth Fighter the plane only passed up and down, the picture is a composite of these two passes

I have to say that this year's Air Show turned to be a great disappointment. There were fewer planes exhibited in static displays, and in the air, and the overall organization dragged on. We brought an air-traffic radio scanner along with us, which let us listen on all the talking from the control tower, and thus we were somewhat informed about what was going on, for the official announcer was utterly lost. He declared a twenty minute pause just as another number rolled for takeoff, so half of the audience went away to grab some food. Then he failed to disclose that they needed a real break when the runway needed cleaning after soldiers had cluttered it with machine gun cartridges while demonstrating rescue mission with a helicopter under attack. People watched and wondered about a helicopter that hovered a few feet over the runway, sweeping it with the prop wash -- not much of a flying number, but everybody expected it to turn into some kind of stunt. And I don't really want to mention things like the schedule not being anywhere to be had -- some funny home-made list hung near a gate, but that was all, so people could not organize their time -- to go see the static displays during breaks and return to their seats when something interesting was to happen in the air. To illustrate our dismay, we grasped at anything remotely amusing, like the announcer's terribly mispronouncing a few Czech words that made it into Air Show jargon: Zlín (aircraft maker, pronounce "zleen", he kept saying "zhoolin") and lomcovák (a shaker, aerobatic figure where a stalled aircraft spins about several axes at the same time; I can't figure out how to describe the pronunciation: "lom-zo-vaak?").

Nevertheless, our little Hippo must have liked the Air Show so much that he started demanding to get out and see it for himself. And since we are very miserable parents who use every opportunity to spoil our own baby's fun, we immediately decided to disallow that. With roaring F16 overhead, we sped off to the hospital, again.

Medical staff repeated more or less the same sequence they played a week before - the only differences being actual people on duty, the doctor and the nurses (and also the fact that I needed not - being a recidivist - fill out any new forms). Monitor revealed this time some minor contractions, attributed to dehydration (during the three hours of AirShow, I drank about a liter and half of water, and ate some sherbet). They were probably right, for contractions vanished shortly after they made me slurp down a huge glass of ice cold water. They kept me hooked to the monitor for another hour after that - just to be sure.

Well it seems that for the rest of my pregnancy I will have hard time figuring out what an expecting mother should consider a "safe" activity; given that sitting down and watching airplanes seems to be too dangerous.

Copyright © 2003-2004 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.