Spring Storms March 28 - April 24, 2005 Believe it or not, these are no meteorlogical phenomena.

	Sid enjoyed ballooning on the prairie of Carrizo Plain in southern California

	If you fly long into the morning, the wind picks up and balloons become hard to handle.

We strive to take advantage of the presence of our baby-sitting granny -- on the first weekend of April, I had sent Sid out to southern California, to fly balloons. Then, naturally, I envied him quietly. California Valley is very pretty, but unfortunately too far from any basic medical care for my current state (not mentioning an ICU for newborns), and intermittently out of cellular network signal.

I don't know how kids do notice, but as soon as father pulls out of the driveway, they start trouble. Our so far very well behaved girl, began to spook me out on Saturday, so I left Tom under grandma's supervision and drove to the hospital. My pregnancy dementia automatically led me to the newborn facilities (where I used to go visit Tom daily). Confused, I gazed at the door and wondered aimlessly, which one of my mental gaps made me miss the hospital corridor containing maternity ward; fortunately I found myself soon thereafter. It felt like a long overdue high school reunion -- familiar faces, familiar places, only I was one child further in my life. The doctor asked, who brought me in; I explained that my husband was out of reach and actually does not know where I am. She started looking worried -- where was Tom, she asked. So I disclosed to her the existence of our grandmother, making her visibly relieved. Tom has already made an impression on her during one of fifteen minute consultations -- it would seem that the memory has lodged itself firmly in her mind. To be honest, I was rather intimidated by the image of our toddler freely foraging among monitors, cables, birth-giving mothers, surgeons, anesthesiologists and the rest of hospital traffic (the most scary part was the idea of an eventual bill for all damaged instruments). The rest of my hospital visit proceeded just like in my previous pregnancy -- monitoring, examinations, tests -- and subsequent shrugging of shoulders and tentative suggestions that I should rest a bit.

	Where have all the cheerios gone?

On the next day, I took grandma to fetch Cecilia (my old car) from winter storage in Monterey. Alas, it failed to start. I tried to call a certain nation-wide roadside assistance - but only got to talk to an answering machine, which informed me that I may call at another time. Krens let me into their apartment and for the following half hour we all tried to dial various services, but still with no result. Eventually we resigned to it, George remembered owning a pair of jumpstart cables, and we gave Cecilia a jolt from our Wagon's battery. Which makes me wonder why we pay this roadside assistance insurance, when in need I am stranded without their help (despite the fact that I found myself in the middle of a civilized area -- I would understand that they could have difficulties somewhere out in the desert).

	Only some animals are more funny than our little midget.

Having to deal with all that was sufficiently exciting, but this storm was not quite over. Sid had extended his following weekend by two days of comp-time; I looked forward to put my feet up and leave the rest of our family at their mutual mercy. On Sunday we went to the ZOO again. In the evening, Sid complained about some unspecified uneasiness; I was still laughing at him that he most likely contracted an eight-letter, lethal male disease (sniffles). On Monday Hippo kept on rumbling. At night he had such shakes that he was waking me up with his teeth clattering. At the same time he turned himself into a streaming food-heater, hence I moved to our guest bedroom and decided that until Hippo is seen by the eye of a doctor, it would be better that Tom and I separate ourselves from him. Grandmother was at the time, fortunately, visiting with friends in Monterey.

All of the junior care duty fell on me, which, however, was not the entire stress. How do you explain to a toddler that his daddy is at home, but he will neither play with him, nor take care of him as usual? To avoid excessive hysteria, and to grant Sid some rest for recovery and dealing with doctors, I rather took Tom to Monterey, to see grandma. I was expecting a certain relief and relaxation, but Sid (for a change) forgot his cell phone at home. I spent approximately five hours calling home to find out if he made it back from doctor's, what did they eventually tell him, and whether we should continue our isolation. Hippo was nowhere to be found. In the end I rushed back, ready to camp out in front of the clinic until they produce my husband or tell me what happened to him -- that is, if he made it to the clinic and is not miserably dying in some ditch along the freeway. Shortly before I could begin any organized effort, Sid called -- they had passed him around the clinic like a hot potato, from the lab to the CT scan and back, to subsequently conclude that they did not find anything.

	Panorama of southern San José from El Sereno mountain. Our house is located on the right edge of the picture right under one of the hills.

Fortunately for us they made sure that whatever Sid had was not contagious, and I could release Tom to his father. Our poor little Tommy was so extraordinarily pleased that his daddy was no longer hiding from him and was not chasing him away that he wrapped his hands around his neck for the rest of the evening. I had no idea how much of an anguish for Tommy it had been, being refused by his daddy.

	Big road, small boy. Hiking atop El Sereno (2,500 feet).

	Tom has been free from any prejudice about gender polarity in toys.

How successful is our dealing with Tommy has lately been very dependent on communication between us. So far Tom would not speak yet, but he has developed quite strong ideas regarding what he wishes, and this he keeps trying to tell us somehow. First he tried a generations-proven way -- crying (when a baby wants something, (s)he simply cries). We somehow managed to teach him that he can point his wishes out, and we are usually glad to oblige him (it saves our ears a lot), yet this system has its bugs. Quite often we don't have the heart to deny him something he begs for vigorously, despite of lack of time etc. For example, when we go out for a short walk before dinner, Tom tends to beg on an intersection for extending our route to a remote playground. Another problem arises when we fail to decipher his request -- Tommy gets so frustrated from our lack of comprehension that the whole affair ends in a hysterical fit. Similar fate awaits us in a case we simply CANNOT oblige him. Lately I probably got a reputation of a callous mother at our favorite grocery store. The first conflict started around pasta. I thought that Tom would like to carry a carton box of his favorite noodles, which would make his little hands busy enough to obstruct him from pulling other wares out of the racks. Alas, Tommy LOVES his pasta, and carrying would not suffice. He demanded to open the box on the spot and devour some of the hard, raw noodles within. I interjected, of course, but it meant subsequently circling through the store with a hysterically screaming toddler in tow, who pointed to my cart with pasta in it and heartbreakingly begged his mother to feed him. I could not, unfortunately, explain such complicated thing that we must first buy the pasta, then bring home, and then boil.
Bread was at the center of another scene. We USUALLY buy bread. I carefully missed the bread rack the other day (we did not need it); Tommy dragged me back and pulled out a baguette to make me understand what I had forgotten to buy. Explaining (in vain) ensued. I grabbed him, put him in the shopping cart and hoped that I would entertain him somehow on my way to checkout, diverting his attention elsewhere. Unfortunately from his new vantage point he had a direct line of sight - of the bread rack - and eventually I was forced to explain to the cashier that my poor crying baby is not being abused, he only tries to remind me of an IMPORTANT shopping item. Had I known that his interest in a glob of dough would last him this long, I swear I would have bought him a small bagel or something.

	To touch the balloon and not let go of mama.

	Daddy, save me!

On the other hand, on many of my days I have been moving through the world with an obedient, sweet little kid. One who by himself brings his "outdoors" clothes and shoes; one who rushes to the bathroom after returning home to wash his hands; one who asks nicely when he finishes his drink and likes to have more; one who climbs by himself in and out of his stroller. And when Tom occasionally says his quiet, shy "mama", I get weak in my knees. He also figured out how to let us know when he wants to read his favorite books or watch TV (a children's show in the evening), brings his Hugo the stuffed hippo when it's time to sleep, and lets us carry him to his bed with a smile. Frequently one can notice how conservative little children are. We, parents, read him his books while sitting in a chair -- and so Tom reads his books in the same chair. He has to climb up, but he sits down like a maharaja and importantly browses through his favorite publications (granny lost control at the toy store again, and contributed heavily to Tom's library).

We had tried to demonstrate the principle of hot-air balloon to Tom, who likes pictures of balloons in several books and on granny's paintings. Looking out for an opportunity, when our balloonist friends would fly from a nearby location, we wanted to open Tom's horizons about aerostatic travel (knowing he's been fascinated by all aircraft). One flies balloons at dawn, though, and it meant getting up in a very uncivilized hour. Tommy whimpered a bit, but he found an interest in the adventure. Naturally, a huge monster of a balloon inspired a great deal of awe in him; still it caught his fancy enough to go and touch the inflatable envelope with his finger. Eventually the moment came when propane burners were lit and the fun was over. Tommy demanded to keep a respectable distance from the roaring flames, in parents' arms at all times. We hope that next time he will find more courage and later shall share our hobbies with us.

	A walk along a rocky beach cannot end any other way than completely wet.

Tom prefers a full schedule. It seems that he has learned to appreciate trips and visibly rejoices whenever the whole family drives out. He still does not walk far, but covers quite a distance -- his running up and down, returning to every little ant, small flower or a puddle must be rather taxing. He has discovered the magic of low tide pools at the ocean beaches. Unlike the always chilly Pacific, these tiny natural reservoirs warm up to a pleasant temperature and contain many interesting things -- shells, anemones, snails, crabs and similar critters. One can throw rocks into the water and get wet. All these are attractions matching little boy's ideas of fun, though it usually means a full change of clothes later, and drying of shoes for two days (shells are sharp and Tom could cut his naked feet).

	A sea monster in a puddle

Our second child has been fine as well. My visit to the hospital has revealed no discrepancy. Neither did a subsequent checkup. The doctor has glanced at Tom and said that he seems quite big -- and our second baby appears to grow, by subjective estimate, a bit above average. This made me happy. If our little missy turned eager to get into the greater world like Tom did, an early born with a higher birth weight would have better chances after all. My only hope is that our girl won't take entirely after dad -- being over six feet, over two hundred fifty pounds, and bald-headed and bearded, would make it really difficult for her.

We're approaching the finale of a second trimester and my aquarial appearance seems getting worse. Having compared my pictures I discovered that my belly is indeed one month ahead, hence I already get complications that I had with Tom just before he was born. It would seem that this time I am to enjoy all that I had avoided thanks to an early birth. Take for example the widening of my pelvis -- the feeling that my legs got disjointed in hips and if I stand up briskly, not only the baby falls out of me, but together with it all my internal organs. Consequently, I walk like a lame duck (combined with hobbling caused by a pinched sciatic nerve). I must be truly something amazing to look at.

	What you really see are two fat women.

As a reward, having a much more acute case of pregnancy dementia, means I can relax more. There is no time nor mental capacity to ponder little things, so I don't even worry about stuff that occupies first-time-mothers' minds. I did not only give up counting, which month I actually am in (means to keep remembering that pregnancy takes nine calendar, that is, ten lunar months, and I don't fancy that), but even relatively easy keeping tracks of weeks does not get to me anymore. I almost got into fight with a doctor in an emergency ward, for our counts were off by two weeks, but subsequently I found out that she had a better grasp on my period that I had myself. During one consultation I was so preoccupied by my screaming son that I did not even pay attention to the nurse pushing little weights on a scale, and for two months I had lived in a blissful ignorance about my mass. Then, of course, came the next checkup session, and the nurse looked at me with a professional gaze and set the balance right to two hundred pounds. I think I had moaned loudly, for she later tried to cheer me up that the exact number was all two pounds less. Well, my dementia protects me relatively reliably from being able to convert these horrible numbers to kilograms, and from knowing tabular values of an ideal pregnancy gains. As a result, I don't worry if I gain weight correctly or not. Should it continue this way, I shall be rather surprised at finding out I am giving birth to a child, and wonder where I got it? Apparently, wise Mother Nature has come to a conclusion that two little children require the mother to be thoroughly at ease and mildly numbed, to help her sail right through all the stress. We shall see how this plan of hers works out.

Copyright © 2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.