Changes and Transformations September 1 - 18, 2005 My husband started to recover and kids keep growing and growing and growing.

	Kids grow up ... and my man shaved.

Most of all, naturally, kids are the ones who change, but this time my Hippo was befallen by a big change. I harbor a dark suspicion that it has been his own fault. The other day we went with Tom to see airplanes; watching them Sid mentioned that he had used to work with an interesting person and that he would be most interested to find out what ever happened to him. In a few days, Sid's phone rang. A headhunter was on the other end of the line, with an offer of a new job. A more thorough investigation showed that Sid would work with this particular, interesting person. Busy times of change have arrived.

My Hippo is relatively adamant regarding fashion. He is as obstinate as to still wear t-shirt that he used to wear back when we met five years ago -- I have already raided his wardrobe several times, but no matter how I try, he manages to show up in another favorite worn-out garment of his, which is proudly showing scars caused by long life and frequent washing -- a scuffed hem by the neck, various holes and unplanned vents. It's obvious one can not appear like that to an interview with a prospective employer. Buying decent clothes for a Hippo, however, is far from easy. There are plenty of things for a massive man (especially in the midriff), but why does everybody assume that such a male is also 5 feet "tall"? Once I saw Sid wearing a pair of department store trousers, it became clear this was not the way -- as they were reaching almost to his ankles, which may currently come handy in New Orleans. My Hippo had to go to a more expensive store and have himself a custom-sized pair of trousers.

	Our baby has grown

Besides wardrobe upgrade, my Hippo has undergone another great transformation -- he shaved his beard after two years. It surprised me how much more gray Sid became during this period; with grizzled facial hair he looked like an established retiree, hence it had to go, to prevent his new employer from thinking that they would be hiring a zombie ready for a grave. Shaving the beard was carefully watched by Tommy, who was afraid that such brutal treatment hurts, and for subsequent several days kept quizzing this oddly looking gentleman whether he was his real daddy. The idea that removing hair is painful stayed with Tommy until his own next hair cutting -- after a long time, he wept through his person's beautification process.

From my point of view, the most substantial change is the one, which occurred within Sid. For last two years he kept coming home tired and annoyed; I had attributed it to the exhausting stereotype of my complicated pregnancies and continually crying babies. Since the moment, when a spark of hope for a new, more interesting job became visible, I got back the man I married. Not that he would let go in any way of his paranoid ideas and conspiracy theories (which he calls a healthy skepticism), but nevertheless he has become much fun now. I hope that his upbeat approach to life will last.

	Today, the chair of the supervisory committee is a bit more approachable.

I further hope that Lizzy would keep on quickly changing from a newborn to an infant. Generally by reaching an age of one month, Lisa began to sleep at night from eleven to five, which gives me luxurious five to six hours of uninterrupted sleep. I must say that the world has suddenly became much more rosy. I also manage to guess correctly causes of Lizzie's unhappiness more often, hence we receive a little bit less yelling -- that is, if we satisfy any and all whims of our princess daughter before she starts to desire them really strongly. One of the most difficult wishes to fulfill at this age is "do entertain me". Lisa began to watch the world and since she is not much mobile, she demands to be carried to interesting objects. A most merciful Mother Nature has already clouded our memories regarding this phase with Tom, but our journals speak clearly -- back then, I had actually spent a lot of time carrying my baby around. I used to keep Tom in a front carrier; so far, granny has been holding Lisa in her arms, but I'm afraid that the carrier shall soon come into service again -- especially now that I need both hands free to fix things for Tommy.

A small payback for my baby's huge demands, is Lizzy's smile. She has finally ceased to look like a chair of an important committee, and began showing us a prettier face. Unlike Tom, she loves to be undressed -- she enjoys changing and bathing, although it may be caused by the fact that Tommy was a winter baby and we certainly did not heat our home up to eighty degrees in December. Now in summer we had to switch on the air conditioner and even so, Lisa stayed quite warm.

	Tommy wonders whether shaving hurts.

There is also (as I hope) an evolutionary step in Lizzy's disliking of cars. Our princess daughter is the first baby I know, who quite distinctly hates riding in a car. I have to say that driving with a baby siren behind my back is remarkably stressing, but in the last few days, punitive squeal has been sounding only during our stops at red lights. I also happen to have, several times in a row, stuffed Lisa into her stroller without greater protests. On the other hand, her beloved sling carrier seems to have reached the end of its use -- Lizzy stopped preferring to be snug with her mom, and demands to be carried openly. The only trouble is her huge size. A headrest in the front carrier only reaches between her shoulder blades, while I reckon her still too small for a face-forward position. Suddenly I got a lot to think about -- with the departure of our granny, I lack one extra pair of hands, but can's see a solution. Perhaps I shall wait and see how it all turns out, when Sid starts in his new job and I will really be handling it all alone.

	Tom insisted on wearing his new Wellington boots even during dinner.

It seems to me that during last few weeks, Tommy has also changed. Perhaps it is due to Lisa still comparing to him like a little mouse; perhaps changes in his surroundings advanced him again, and most likely it's been just normal growing up. Tom has sprouted up -- to about three feet, and he gained weight, too. Without any teaching we discovered that he can eat by himself (if you overlook the fact that a part of the meal ends up on the floor) and drink from a glass, without the need to take a shower afterwards. He began to repeat syllables that he catches from our dialogs and that he fancies, hence we're filled with a hope that he would soon speak a human language. He often reacts to our talking (whether it concerns him or not) by running away and bringing back objects that were mentioned. It's enough to see firemen on TV for Tom to seek out his toy fire truck and turn on a siren (I know, it's a bit impractical if we had been trying to make Lisa sleep at the moment).

I'm surprised how consistent Tommy has been lately. In a store I noticed Wellington boots, which I thought a useful thing for the upcoming fall. I sat Tom on a cart and pulled the beautifully yellow boots on -- and that has sealed my fate. Tom refused to take the boots off and throughout the rest of my shopping kept sitting upright, never fussing, and always admiring his new yellow beauties. I had to rip off the ticket for the cashier to scan it, and the boots never left Tom's feet, not even during paying. I tried to change my son's mind when we reached the car, pointing out that it was over eighty degrees out there, but I did not succeed. We had arrived home with Tommy completely sweaty, yet happy. Later the same night Tom conquered the art of removing the boots and putting them back on; he demanded to keep them on even during dinner. Believe it or not, we had managed to convince him to leave his Wellingtons before going to bed.

	I shall never again rest alone...

At a toy store, which we visited to fetch some little thing, Tom had discovered Matchbox cars. I held a dark foreboding that any toy would lose it magic in the moment of the transfer of ownership, but my mother's heart could not resist his persistent begging and tenacious returning to the desired cars. A pleasant surprise awaited me. Tommy loves his Matchbox cars, carries them everywhere he goes, and manages to play with them quietly and devoutly for a long time, organizing traffic in his corner. I'm glad that once he begged for something so strongly, the toy becomes interesting and useful for him.

I am not quite sure, however, how much we are succeeding in our parental guidance. The other day I caught Tom banging his trains on the floor. After giving him several warnings, I confiscated the particular toy car and placed it on the microwave. Tom took another car and banged it again. Gradually, I took away all his train and Tom then walked around, weeping. I concluded that he had been punished sufficiently and returned him the train. It did not take long and an upset Tom banged his train again. I said that I would take it away -- and the poor fellow showed up with an engine and all his cars right away under the punitive microwave... and then he wept for he lost his train.

Tom is relatively noisy, and sometimes he gets excited and starts to yell -- usually just in the moment when Lisa is falling asleep. We tried to explain that he should not shout, but he naturally keeps on doing it. A few times we ran out of our parental patience, and we exiled him -- carried him into his room. The other day I was trying to make Lisa sleep and Tommy started to shout. I hissed at him that unless he stops yelling, he would have to go to his bedroom. Tom listened carefully, and then, using a war roar, trotted off by himself to his room, shouted there for a while, and then returned quietly back and continued playing with his trains nicely.

	Lisa in her 7th week seems to grow out of her car seat (!)

A few times I caught myself expecting some rational behavior from Tom, in situations he cannot understand, which led to embarrassing scenes. At our ZOO, an open air children's theatre show is performed every day. I did not anticipate Tommy to be attracted to puppets, although I was sure I could keep him in one place, as long as I maintained a smooth supply of food. We sat down on a bench, I began to nurse Lisa in her sling carrier, and with my free hand I pushed various snacks into Tom's reach. The play had, however, caught Tommy's fancy to the extent that he abandoned his lunch (!!!) and journeyed to the stage. I kept my cool -- the auditorium is fenced off; I thought there was no place for him to run to, and I continued to feed my baby. A scene ensued of which I only had read so far -- Tom, captivated by the Princess and an enchanted Prince the Frog, began to climb up on the stage. The audience chuckled and began rubbernecking, who's toddler this may be. Julie took off first; I was late, for I first had to disconnect Lisa from her supply, and at least button up my bra. In the end, we had managed (after three such attempts) to dissuade Tommy from participating in the play, though he henceforth lost all interest in the performance and ran away into the maze of the Zoo.

Tom had prepared another surprise for us, during his granny's departure. We were afraid that disappearance of his head spoiler would be a great shock for him, but so far it seems that he has accepted the thinning of our family with a balance of a philosopher. True, we tried to make the situation easier on him. Granny showed him an airport in a picture book and explained that she was going to fly in an airplane; Tommy rode along with Sid, to take granny to the airport, and was shown an actual plane on which "baba" would fly away, they all spent at least an hour circling the airport on a little shuttle train, and finally he squeezed her, a poor retired person on a fixed income, for another toy airplane from a souvenir shop (kids seem to be very practical in any sentimental situation). He remembers sometimes that they used to do this or that together, but he has never show any sign of trauma. Now if only I could survive the lack of my great help without a big shock.

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