Nesting April 25 - May 10, 2005 Betting on bigger bedding; if you can't get warm clothes, get hot with a fever; crazy Mother's Day.

	You can judge for yourself that this aquarium belly can't fit into regular sizes

Nesting syndrome is supposed to be one of the typical behavioral patterns associated with last months of pregnancy. I personally have the feeling that again, somebody had the urge to put labels on things and file them neatly and orderly. In my opinion there is no syndrome, only an encounter between the future mother and hard, cruel reality. For the first six months of pregnancy, one can ignore that the new baby is going to need some living space (for example, room for her bed and the thousand and one pieces of clothes, which the child shall outgrow at a pace much greater than her desperate parents can conjure to keep buying). One also allows herself to improvise with one's wardrobe, alternatively raiding husband's cabinets (especially if your man is Hippo-sized); alas, in the last phase of pregnancy, there is no other way -- one must head out to the shopping mall.

Shopping has always been an exceptionally painful affair for me. I despise crowds, I hate stores that offer no selection, I loathe fashionable and annual seasons. If you add non-cooperating Tom, your idea of my purgatory is complete. Nevertheless I managed to drag our poor child into the mall, where I attempted to bribe him through borrowing a shopping car (semi-hysterical shopping mothers can borrow children's cars at no charge -- I consider it a very humane idea). There is a maternity store there -- and I was naive enough to hope for a large selection of bras of gigantic proportions, yet in the end I was glad to find one type sufficient in shape, make and size. While I tried it in the fitting room, Tom managed to escape only two times (a great moment: child gone, and I'm being half naked), so I dared to check out some pregnancy dresses. My wardrobe has currently shrunk into one pair of trouser, one pair of sweat pants, and one dress (which I had been wearing on and off for ten years). I was enchanted by cute maternity dresses with pretty patterns on them, but not for long. After I snuggled into the first one, I discovered a momentary twist of fashion: skirts end just above your knees.

	Sometimes one cannot keep up with watching all that flies around. Blackbirds around the pond, a ground squirrel underneath the pavilion, three airplanes overhead, and one helicopter near a high power line ... what a rush!!

Apparently nobody has revealed to the designers what me and my favorite author of pregnancy books, Vicki Iovine, had known for a long time -- pregnancy is a whole body experience. Very few of us grow just a pretty cute belly. It is usually followed by swollen face, arms, ankles -- simply everything. I have been (so far) mostly spared dumpling-like cheeks, but Mother Nature keeps balancing my gigantic stomach and uber-breasts with ever larger bottom (apparently so that I don't tip forward uncontrollably) -- the whole ensemble then supported by two massive pillars. To wrap things up - my knees, not to speak of parts above them, are definitely not something I would like to show. I don't like the idea being arrested for indecent exposure in public.

Unfortunately in a store specialized for pregnant women, I could not find a dress that would not make me look like a menopausal romp disguising as a farmer's daughter. Perhaps it is another punishment for me having the cheek to be pregnant at my advanced age of thirty five -- all the dresses might look elegant on a sixty-pound, twenty year old model, but we, real women, have been sentenced to wear spandex and XXX-large T-shirts bought in "Plus Sizes". I could not summon the courage to try those dresses -- perhaps fat people prefer striking patterns full of merry flowers, but I would personally appreciate something less conspicuous -- e.g. something which would not make me look like a neglected gypsy dancer running away from a circus.

	Tommy demands to walk over every accessible wall or log. Without assistance, he usually stumbles and falls right away.

Clothing for Tommy became another shopping challenge of this Spring. Somehow I missed the seasons' change and so Tom turned out at the brink of Summer without trousers. You can get SHORTS and summer T-shirts everywhere, but our toddler is of the outdoorsy kind -- it's been tough enough to deal with bruised elbows and face. Why add knees and chins, could someone please tell me? Wherever I spotted long trousers, I always found them to be made out of the hardest and least pliable denim, reinforced by thousand pockets and rivets. It's true that Tom would hardly get a chance to fall in them, as he could not even run -- I assume that you first balance the tubes upright and then you slide the child into them like into a suit of arms. This does not strike me as a proper and humane wear for the summer. Our neighbor eventually saved me, for she brought me three pairs of trousers for Tom all the way from Santa Barbara (I can't comprehend why in Santa Barbara they can have cheap simple soft long trousers for two year old boys, but in Silicon Valley, they cannot).

Besides trousers, Tom begins to grow out of his pajamas as well. So far he had used overalls, but those we have are warm, "winter" models. For the summer, I wanted something made of thin cotton. Naturally, if I need something, it cannot be had. Overalls have disappeared from the surface of the earth -- especially those for 36 months of age. I understand -- three years old kids may not care so much for overalls, but what should we mothers of little hippos do, if our children wear this size at eighteen months? I complained to my friend Petra about stores only carrying two-piece pajamas, and she mentioned that is does not end there -- summer season erupted in pajamas as well, hence you have no chance to find anything with a long sleeve or leg. All that despite our nights being quite chilly even during summertime -- why could our kids, who often kick off their blankets, have no decent pajamas? Eventually I stumbled upon a sale of long pajamas at Old Navy -- and I also sent desperate Petra there, so I hope our boys are now properly equipped for the summer.

	Finally a nice pair of LONG trousers for Tom's summer

Upcoming arrival of our baby girl means all kinds of other purchases as well. Tom still refuses to walk nicely hand in hand with me and keeps running away, which raises an issue of a tandem stroller as our next necessary investment. I tried handling of Petra's tandem, we checked out the "overwhelming" selection of all three offered models and we're in the clear. We have a slight fear that we may be hit by a fashionable or seasonal wave -- like suddenly it would be completely out of style to have two kids, or this half year's designer trends dictate that you can only show yourself in public with a stroller for three. Let us hope that we shall buy our Arch without hassles when we need it (no sense kick it around the house before we have two kids).

For the baby, we also need a crib. We could buy a new one, but that would only postpone Tom's move to a greater bed by a little while. Tom has grown already too big for his baby bed anyway -- he would often weave himself into the bars (bumpers do not prevent him in the least) and demand to be extracted by wailing desperately. His jumping up and down and his climbing attempts on the bars, indicated that we were not far away from a moment when he would manage a head-first fall from the edge, which led us to believe that he needed a better exit option. Especially since you can enhance a regular bed with side railing, which prevents the child from rolling off of it in his sleep, but still allows him to crawl out comfortably and at will. We were, of course, also aware of many negative aspects of a large bed -- a conservative child (which fits Tom's description) may develop a problem with getting adjusted to something new; he can start escaping the open bed and roam around the house without supervision. Then there is always going to be the argument that "he is too small for <whatever-you-think-of-at-the-moment>". Sid contradicted it by stating that when wearing a normal pajamas, Tom did not look like a baby anymore and that he was certainly big enough for a real bed. It's interesting how a mere change in clothing style (from overall to shirt and trousers) makes a kid look older.

	Tom's new nest

Buying a bed is easy. They come in four standard sizes, consisting of four parts -- a mattress, a spring box, a frame with feet, and a headboard. We wanted the very basic for Tommy: a mattress and a solid box underneath - which puts the whole nest at the level of a classic European sofa. The protective railing attaches between these two parts and that's all. Tom is able to climb safely up and down. Later, when he grows bigger, we may buy a frame with feet and a headboard, and we know it will fit. Finding the right bedding turned out to be a problem. We are (all) used to flannel, a material that we consider most comfortable to sleep in, but the salespeople (for a change) discovered a summer season -- and you can forget about flannel. I would have even accepted that, but when I searched for some children's theme, I found a choice of pink barbie-styles (with kitschy pink kittens and baby ponies, enhanced by frills and lace and signs exclaiming "OUR SWEET PRINCESS"), or I could have a sad blue bedding "populated" with brown American footballs. And then in one store I noticed a yellow (flannel!) bedding with doggies and I was lost. So were the store clerks. The set was on sale, only $9.95 - and adequately sold out. A receptive Bed, Bath and Beyond lady took to the phones and made a complicate search in which one of their many stores would they still have my desired size, and reserved it there for me. I am not the type to command store clerks around, so it shall forever stay a mystery whether my insistence on this and no other bedding was just a side effect of my pregnancy hormones. On the other hand, we got the right bedding. At least in this area, I won against all retail planning practices and forces of seasonal fashion!

Then they delivered the bed and our moment of the truth has arrived. Afternoon nap proceeded without problems. Tom fell asleep, still in my arms, and once he woke up in a large bed, he dealt with it the best way he knew -- he simply climbed down and went to see what his parents were doing. In the evening, however, we usually put him to bed "fully conscious", and hence we were worried how would Tom handle his new choice, whether to stay in or not. He came out a few times to check on us, but he always agreed to go back, crawled into the bed and waited for us to tuck him in -- and eventually, he fell asleep that way. It is true that next morning, his trotting around the house at seven a.m. was not quite ideal (we usually get up at eight), but we thought it OK. Our second night was worse -- Tom woke up at five with a diaper leak. A view of our toddler standing in the hall, clutching his stuffed hippo and chattering his teeth with cold, would perhaps unnerve even a less sensitive mind than mine. It started dawning on us that things were going to go differently with a big bed than we would have expected.

	Tom likes his new bed - he was simply cold at night

Tom did not seem to mind the bed as such. He accepted it as his new "nest", fully cooperated when settling down to sleep, and appeared to regard his new freedom of motion as a great improvement. He has no need to call for us anymore, much less cry -- he has more control and self-reliance. Unfortunately, Tommy knows not how to sleep under a blanket or quilt. All night he swirls around, and that makes him again and again end up on top of the blanket. We can't quite reconcile with the alternative of getting up every ninety minutes and covering him up again. A sleeping bag, which he had used in the crib, seemed a bit dangerous now -- a sleepy Tom, stumbling through the dark house with his legs effectively tied together invokes catastrophic scenarios in my head -- and so we had to dismiss this option as well.

Believe it or not, there is a simple and straightforward solution - a so-called "sleeper". It's a loose fleece overall with anti-skid feet, which is worn over pajamas. If you read the beginning of this chapter carefully, you must know where the catch is. Right -- our calendar says it's summertime and therefore no such thing can be had in stores, for kids cannot possibly be cold at night in May. I took Tom around on a veritable sightseeing tour through all possible retail businesses near and far, including charity outlets and second-hand joints. An owner of one nearby second-hand place showed real sympathy -- she said I was by far not the first mother trying to get warm sleeping clothes, but these things were, as she continued, literally flying off the shelves. It pleased me to learn that my child is not the only different one if he's been cold in the middle of the supposedly hot season, but it won't make Tom any warmer, will it?

On following two days our poor Tom got warmer all by himself. I don't know if he caught the virus at Monterey Aquarium or during his eighteenth-month check at the doctor's (or altogether elsewhere). During our quest for sleepers at Target he suddenly transformed into a limp puppet, and I quickly retreated. So fast, in fact, that I left my purse in my shopping cart (with house keys, cell phone, wallet with all my IDs and credit cards), and discovered it back home. Tommy had to endure another super-fast ride out to the store. A guardian angel, the one who takes care of maternity-demented mothers of small, ill children, showed mercy again (although I must make him often busy) and somebody had actually brought the purse (with everything, including all seven dollars in cash I had) back to the store.

	Mother's day at the seaside

My memory shows me only blurred images of following events. Most of the time I held a whimpering Tom, measured his temperature, changed his clothes that were sweat-soaked, wet from cold wraps, peed-through or barfed upon, cleaned Tom, myself and his bed. Sometimes we were on the phone with urgent medical advice and tried to keep Tommy under 104 degrees. At night Sid and I took turns staying in Tom's room, alarm clock set to regular intervals for temperature checks. Tom slept in his light pajamas and we did not need to cover him.

Next day followed the same pattern -- until late afternoon. Just as I got ready to call pediatric urgent care and make an appointment so that we could get there and not wait, Tom began to show relatively loud displeasure with my embrace. I did not immediately understand what he wanted - but he squirmed out and marched into our kitchen, where he unmistakably demanded dinner. A reference measurement showed only mildly heightened temperature -- but such a dramatic change from a dying wretch into a resolute, healthy individual within twenty minutes caught me off guard. Tommy smoothly moved into his regular regime, interrupted twenty four hours ago -- he ate with an appetite, and insisted on his evening walk. Still he spent most of the twenty minutes, to which I limited our outing, in his stroller, but there was no doubt he was feeling much better.

Since his illness has vanished and we revived his old winter overall, Tom has been sleeping in his new, large bed, eleven hours every night. He tends to come out and check on us a few times in the evening, but when instructed so he obediently walks back to his nest, assumes his beetle position (with his butt sticking up) and waits to be tucked in.

	Our daughter is laughing at us already

Recovering, we decided to spend Mothers' Day with granny in Monterey. I personally think that during these important days one should stay at home, sitting on his/her own behind, but this time we broke the rule. Here it comes -- right after we reached an onramp to a freeway, our (older) wagon hiccupped and proceeded to crawl along on three cylinders, going up to forty. While I was prying voicelessly and Sid was swearing loudly, we managed to return home -- where our granddaddy of a car died again -- and subsequently started up as if nothing ever happened. We did not risk a trip in it, though, and so we had to move all our stuff over (where are the days when both Sid and I simply jumped in the car and drove out, not needing any stroller, diapers, wet napkins, sand toys, spare baby clothes and a toy push-car and thousands of other things) for another car, another attempt. Next breakdown occurred in Gilroy, where my contact lens suddenly crumpled. Naturally I did not bring my lens cleaning kit for such a short ride -- we had to stop at the nearest drug store and have Sid make necessary purchases. Confusion continued -- we discovered that neither Monterey nor Seaside would offer a place to eat lunch (despite an advanced hour) -- restaurants were either closed or full. Eventually we ate at a Chinese place where we confirmed that Tommy has learned to be pretty picky. He only nibbled at our home-packed bread and cheese, but he loaded himself with meat wonton soup as if he had starved for a week. Not that we would want to discourage such appetite, but it surprised me that he might choose to stay hungry over eating something boring.

And for the finale, a few numbers. At eighteen months of age, Tom is 34 inches tall and weighs 26.5 pounds. Our second child, in her twenty nine weeks of gestational age, insists on being a healthy regular, fast growing girl. She brought me up to two hundred pounds flat -- but it feels at least double that.

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