Trading Post

Part 31: TWO WORLDS As a bedwetter, you always live in two worlds. In one world live those who "know." Every now and then, an understanding, forgiving smile crosses their faces. The shame is overwhelming whenever there’s another reason to discuss "the matter," or when there is even the slightest possibility that these 'insiders' might be thinking about your problem. Like, for instance, when a young mother is standing next to you at the supermarket checkout with her three-year-old child, and the boy "still" has a thick, diapered bottom. In moments like that, Tom imagines he can read his mother’s mind as she stands beside him. Well, that young man ahead of us will probably be out of the woods soon... oh right, I still have to wash diapers today... should I buy a new plastic diaper cover for the long weekend at Uncle Sam’s? Tom’s old one is starting to look a bit stained... Will Tom still need a diaper in the fall? After all, there’s the school field trip coming up. How are we going to handle it then? Oh, whatever, maybe we’ll have put all this behind us by then anyway, just like the boy in front of us... I hope... Especially when several of the insiders are gathered together, the tension of potentially unspoken thoughts becomes almost unbearable. Everyone knows, but nobody talks about it. Or worse: it actually becomes the topic of conversation. And then there is the other world. The much bigger one. The one where, as a "boy who still wets the bed," you have to be terrified that anything might leak out to the public. It’s the fear of the world of those who know expanding even further. In this world, the anxiety is even higher. Constantly on your guard, trying not to give yourself away, trying not to let anything slip. And always scanning the other person to see if they haven’t actually been informed a long time ago, if they already belong to that "first world" and are just putting on a big, embarrassing charade. Tom lives more and more inside this constant tension. He never gets used to it.   With two quick steps, I slipped through the door. Just to get away from my mother’s hand, which she had used to push me forward by my diapered bottom. She couldn’t help but laugh. "Well, glad to be back home?" I nodded. "Alright, we have to hurry, Mrs. Dost will be here any minute," she urged me on. Of course, what had just happened outside our house had brought my own situation right back into focus. She crouched down in front of me, the way people like to do with toddlers, and looked me in the eyes. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she asked in a warm, motherly voice, "So, young man, is your diaper pant still dry?" Embarrassed, I looked at the floor and nodded. The whole situation made me feel like a three-year-old being picked up from kindergarten. "Very good boy!" she praised me, placing her hands on my hips. I reached down too, instinctively trying to stop what I knew was coming next. But she wouldn't be stopped. "Let me see." Gently, she brushed my hands aside and slid my pants down until they bunched around my ankles. She kept praising me as she did it. "You were a very good boy at Dr. Fink’s today. I’m very proud of you." So there I stood, little Tom. She gave a quick smile, but then years of practiced, unconscious routine took over. She placed her hand checking from behind against my diaper pant. It was an automatic, intuitive motion. Just like I had seen my aunt do with Paul when he was three years old. Right down between my legs, where she would expect to feel wet diapers in case I had had an accident. "You really held it in, looks like everything is dry. Such a good boy." She wanted me to step out of my pants completely. She picked them up, folded them, and set them on a chair next to her. She was so different when there were no other adults or mothers around. Especially when my aunt, her sister, wasn't there. Her hands moved back to the front, toward the snaps of the plastic pants. She probably noticed just how much I was squirming with shame and how absurd the whole situation was for me. Maybe she even had a brief moment of doubt, wondering if she had overreacted this morning. Her voice was still warm, but you could hear a hint of pity in it now. "Did you learn your lesson today?" I nodded timidly. "And what did you learn?" As she spoke, she glanced toward the patio, where my diapers and the plastic pants I had wet last night were hanging to dry. Laura, my 12-year-old cousin, had washed them out this morning and hung them up out there. I blushed. It got worse. Right in front of them, spread wide, hung the washed jeans and underpants that I had wet the day before—the ones my mother had found stinking under my bed this morning. Those were the exact reason I had been put into a "daytime diaper" today. Now my face was beet red. She waited, and there was no escaping an answer. I definitely didn't want to push her buttons. Right now she seemed so caring, but that could change in a heartbeat. I didn’t want to risk my "flags of shame"—meaning my diapers, or worse, the plastic pants—suddenly being hung up in the front yard instead of the backyard patio. Looking over at the drying pants, I said, "I won't hide my wet things anymore, I promise." "Very good, Tom. Because '...if you act like a baby, then I have to treat you like a baby...'" She was quoting exactly what she had just heard at the doctor's office. "It’s no different for you than for little Leon, whom you just met. Do you understand?" I nodded meekly. "You wear a diaper pant at night anyway, so not much can happen there. But you still need to tell me right away in the morning if you wet it. Deal?" I must have looked miserable, and she guessed what I was about to say. "No, Tom! You’re still wearing a diaper pant for the night. We’re sticking to that." Any hope that my good behavior during the exam and "treatment" would change things vanished completely. You could see the disappointment written all over my face. "Sweetheart, don't look so sad." She took both of my hands. "You wet the bed two or three times a week." "Sometimes even more often. I just can't keep up with all the laundry." I nodded again. She looked relieved. "Very good!" she praised me once more. "But you also have to tell me right away if you happen to have an accident during the day! Do you promise?" I nodded. "Tell me. How are you going to handle things from now on?" Her hands were back on my hips. Snap. She opened the first button of my plastic diaper cover. Through the front hallway window, I saw Clara’s sheets dancing in the early summer breeze in the front yard, looking like a warning. "I’ll always tell you when I wet the bed. And I’ll tell you if I wet my pants... but..." I wanted to repeat that I had only fallen asleep and that I never wet my pants during the day. "But..." "No 'buts,' young man." Snap, snap.The second and third buttons were open. "A damp pair of underpants counts too! And you know perfectly well that I’ve already discovered a few of those..." She paused, looking at me, and I didn't know what to say anymore. So I just nodded again in silence. My eyes drifted back through the window toward Clara’s pajamas and nightgown, which were now also hanging on the line, drying for everyone to see. "Alright, now let’s check if everything actually stayed clean." As she spoke, she unfastened the remaining buttons of my diaper pant. Snap, snap, snap. The front panel flapped down, and the two cellulose inserts resting on top of the cloth diapers fell out. My mother set the plastic cover with the two diapers on the floor and picked up the inserts. "Perfectly clean! Great job, Tommy!" She lifted my chin and smiled at me. "Tell you what: how about you quickly grab your new measuring cup, do your business in it, and then we can skip the diaper for this afternoon? What do you think?" She had taken both of my hands in hers. "Is that a good plan?" Of course, I didn't want to be walking around in a diaper now that Mrs. Dost was arriving. She gave me an encouraging look. Shifting with embarrassment, I nodded, feeling like a five-year-old all over again. "Go on then, run!" she said, shoving that stupid cup into my hand. Just as I was about to rush off, she called after me. "Hey, take your diaper pant and lay it on your bed—we’ll need that tonight. And tomorrow you’ll be back in training pants. The punishment for the wet pants isn't over yet. Tomorrow is a training day. Understood?" I turned around, took the plastic diaper cover from her hand, and nodded again. "And put the cloth diapers in the laundry basket!" Finally, I was allowed to go. As I hurried past, I caught a glimpse of my mother in the hallway mirror. She was still crouching right where she had just taken my pants off, watching me leave with a gentle smile. "I’ll come by in a minute with your underwear..." I heard her call out. You cannot imagine how incredibly small you feel as a 13-year-old when you have to lay out your own diaper pant on your bed for the upcoming night. Hardly had I finished when I heard the doorbell. My mother opened the door for Mrs. Dost. I could hear them exchanging greetings and my mother inviting her into the living room. Once I was sure they had disappeared into the living room, I ran to the bathroom. I could hear them clearly. There I stood with my childish cup. Just a moment ago I really needed to pee, but now, like this... nothing would come! What are they talking about? About me? And what’s actually going on with Clara? I cracked the bathroom door open a sliver. Listening in might help me relax. "...so you know...", "...of course...", "do you think..." From the bathroom, I could only catch every other word. I might as well listen from the hallway... I thought to myself, opening the door a bit wider and taking two steps out. I held that stupid cup sheepishly in front of me. Now I could hear better. "...I’m so sorry, I should have talked to you much sooner...", "Simone, please...", "...it’s just been going on for six months now." "...really? With Tom, it only started three weeks ago...", "...", "...yes, again, we went through this whole thing six or seven years ago...", ... "Well, with Clara, it’s been going on for a long time, sometimes nothing happens for weeks and then..." "Excuse me, I need to check on Tommy real quick, I’ll be right back." I heard her chair slide back. I quickly sprinted back into the bathroom and stood there with the measuring cup. My mother looked over my shoulder. "Well, what’s the hold-up? Don't you want to get your underwear?" "Yes!" I answered quickly. "Then try a little harder. Otherwise, we’re putting the diaper pant right back on. If you call me within the next ten minutes, you won't have to wear it for the rest of the day." She waved a pair of children's underwear in red and yellow in front of me. Doing my best to cooperate, I focused entirely on the measuring cup. She walked back, and I went right back to listening.   "He’s supposed to fill his measuring cup, but he’s still having a hard time with it..." "Yeah, Clara is sitting over there right now too. After the doctor’s appointment, it took her half an hour and it was barely anything. Now I’ve given her an hour. Her sister is keeping an eye on her to make sure she stays seated..." "How did things go with Clara's bedwetting after that? You mentioned she often stayed dry for weeks?" my mother pried. "Yeah, and then, one wet night after another. You’d think you have a toddler in the house." "Just like Tom! Having two wet beds in one single night happens all the time here, too!" "That’s rough, but at least your boy wears a diaper pant. My little bedwetter is too proud. But we’re going to introduce that pretty soon, too." "Yeah, with the laundry and the smell, long term there’s just no other way. With Tom..." I couldn't stand listening to them talk about me behind my back for another second. I stepped back into the bathroom, focused, and suddenly it just started flowing and flowing—the cup almost overflowed. Now I had to call my mother to have her check my progress... "Mooom! Done!" I yelled. She came in. She glanced over my shoulder; the door was still open anyway. Then she walked over to her room. I felt so stupid standing there, naked from the waist down, holding a measuring cup. She came back with a pair of underwear. A pair of my older, more childish ones, but a pair of underwear nonetheless. She also brought a chart. "Tom’s Log" was written at the top. 'Tom' had been scribbled in by hand. Many of the columns were already filled out by hand, too. Probably one of the forms she had received when booking the appointment. Just like my little blue booklet. "Alright, let’s see!" She spoke with a bit more excitement, her voice a little louder. I could easily picture Mrs. Dost sitting alone in the living room, catching every single word. "Very good boy, Tom! Almost 300 ml. You get a pair of underwear for that, just like I promised. Empty your cup first, please—you can wash it out later. Come over here, step inside. Very good..." Just like a four-year-old, I had to pull up my colorful underwear and was practically expected to be grateful for it. Then I froze. "Please, Mom..." "Yes, Tom! An insert is going inside your underwear. That’s the absolute minimum until we’re sure you 'only' wet the bed." She said it so loudly that it was obvious Mrs. Dost was meant to hear every word. "Alright, pull your underwear back down. There you go, that wasn't so bad, was it? See, don't you feel much more secure already? Now, let's head into the bathroom so you can wash out the cup and set it on the shelf, and then come join us and say hello to Mrs. Dost." I took care of everything and quickly ducked into my room. A pair of pants was already laid out for me there. Fully dressed now, but with a slightly padded crotch, I walked in to greet Mrs. Dost. The conversation stopped instantly. The last words I caught came from my mother: "...brimming full. But he did get a small insert anyway. He needs to remember..." Embarrassed to death, I walked across the room to greet Mrs. Dost. "There you are, Tom. All 'taken care of'? I was just discussing with your mother that you should come over to stay the night with us again sometime soon." I blushed. "You don't need to be ashamed. You saw today that Clara is also... well, still dealing with 'little accidents.' Your mother mentioned how good you are when it's time for bed..." Her eyes drifted briefly out to the drying rack on the patio, where the new yellow plastic diaper cover was hanging right next to a few cloth diapers. "You’re helping your mother out so much by doing that. Well, Clara isn't quite there yet. But maybe you two could support each other a little? What do you think?" I had no idea what to say. My mother chimed in. "Come sit with us for a minute, Tommy." Carefully, I walked over to the empty armchair, constantly trying to keep my padding a secret. As I sat down, I saw a subtle, motherly smile cross Mrs. Dost’s face... "I wish Clara would cooperate so nicely," Mrs. Dost added, her gaze suddenly brushing over my pants. And once again, I thought I caught a brief, 'understanding' smile. For two agonizing hours, I sat there, forced to answer trivial questions, always terrified that the 'topic' would come up again. Then the doorbell rang. Like an electric shock, I jumped up. "Well, Tommy, go see who's at the door," my mother prompted me with a mischievous grin. She clearly knew more than I did. When I opened the door, my breath caught for a second. It was Marie. Marie, the cute girl from my class. Instantly, I grew incredibly self-conscious. She was wearing a bike helmet, half-length tight black shorts, and a white polo shirt. She looked flushed. Or was she nervous? Either way, her face carried a beautiful, light red glow. Out of it flashed a pair of brilliant blue eyes. They beamed like two mountain lakes in a glacier lit up by the sunrise. "Hi, Tom," she greeted me, sounding intentionally casual. "Want to go for a bike ride? It’s my birthday tomorrow, but I got my present today." She gave a cool nod toward the bicycle leaning against the garden gate. "So I can make the most of the good weather... just like my dad said this morning." Of course! Tomorrow was her birthday. She was turning 12. Marie was in the same class as me. Even so, she was a good year younger than I was, since I had repeated the second grade in elementary school. "Earth to Tom! What’s up? Are we riding together?" She laughed. Now my face was slightly flushed. "Uh, yeah, of course! I mean, I have to..." Instinctively, I squeezed my legs tight together, and my face probably turned a shade darker. "Ah, I get it. Well, go on then, hurry up!" and as I turned around, she called after me, "And change into something more athletic! I’m not going easy on you today!" she laughed, looking back at her deep red road bike with its elegant white drop handlebars.

Book 2 – Chapter 3: Dealing with Babies   Sally chose the indoor pool almost instinctively. The worst of the afternoon heat had already begun to fade, and a pleasant breeze drifted across the gardens outside, but not enough to tempt her into the outdoor pool. She smiled to herself at the thought. Most people would have considered either pool an unimaginable luxury. She simply appreciated having the choice. Inside, the air was cool and carried the familiar scent of chlorine and polished stone. She stepped into the changing room, slipped into her navy one-piece swimsuit, and tied her hair into a neat bun before pulling on her swim cap. This wasn’t a leisurely afternoon spent floating in the sun. It was exercise. The comfortable suit always won over the prettier bikinis she reserved for lazy afternoons by the lake or beside the outdoor pool. Within minutes she was slicing through the water. The first few lengths reminded her how much she had missed moving. Her shoulders protested for only a moment before settling into the familiar rhythm. Arms. Kick. Breathe. Turn. Repeat. The water erased almost everything else. With her goggles narrowing her vision, earplugs muting the outside world, and the steady resistance of the water surrounding her, she entered the quiet mental space she always found while swimming. Thoughts slowed. Problems lost their sharp edges. Even time seemed to stretch. Naturally, her mind drifted toward Oskar. He was home. The words still felt almost unbelievable. Only yesterday every visit had required elevators, hand sanitizer, incubators and nurses. Today he was sleeping one floor above her bedroom, wrapped in the ordinary sounds of a family home. She smiled underwater. It felt… right. She imagined him growing stronger week by week. Crawling through the house. Learning to walk across the old wooden floors. Following her into the garden. Interrupting her study sessions upstairs. Perhaps eventually sitting beside her while she painted, completely unaware he was making it impossible for her to concentrate. The thought made her laugh softly beneath the water. She reached the wall, turned, and continued swimming. Half an hour later, the pleasant heaviness began settling into her arms and legs. Enough. She climbed out of the pool, peeled off her cap, and wrapped a towel loosely around her shoulders before sitting on one of the wooden benches lining the wall. Her faithful Casio watch read exactly thirty-one minutes. Respectable. She reached for her phone. The screen was overflowing.   Katrina: Oskar is HOME!! Beautiful picture!! Coolest sister on Earth??   Clara: He looks adorable. I honestly don’t have words.   Patricia: He looks ridiculously relaxed. Charlie says he looks like you.   Sally felt warmth creep into her cheeks. Charlie says he looks like you. She shook her head with an embarrassed smile. Almost absentmindedly, she opened the social media app. Only then did she remember. The photograph. She had posted it from the traffic light.   “#MiracleBaby on his way home. Finally. Thank God.”   She stared at the screen. The internet had apparently lost what little collective sanity it still possessed. Someone had already placed today’s photograph beside the famous NICU picture. Before. After. On the left, Sally sat in the hospital recliner wearing the blue Morgantown Mohigans shirt, holding impossibly tiny premature Oskar against her chest, both of them wrapped in hospital light and emotion. On the right, Oskar rested peacefully in his car seat on the journey home, eyes half closed, looking astonishingly healthy compared to only weeks earlier. The numbers beneath the post continued climbing faster than she could read them. She scrolled.   @NICUParentsNetwork:  These two photos capture exactly why we never stop hoping. ♥ 487K   @GraceAndMercyDaily: I waited patiently for the Lord…’ Psalm 40. Welcome home, little Oskar. ♥ 391K   @GlobalHealthJournal: Medical progress. Family perseverance. One beautiful reminder of what modern neonatal care makes possible. ♥ 274K   @HistoryLens: Sometimes history isn’t written by politicians or generals. Sometimes it’s written by an older sister smiling at her baby brother. ♥ 612K   Sally let out a long breath. “The world’s gone completely mad.” She smiled despite herself. A notification appeared.   Priya: Cute picture, Sally. So happy Oskar is home. Are you trying to steal my job?   Several laughing emojis followed. Sally immediately relaxed. She typed back.   “Sorry! I got carried away…”   She watched the three little dots appear almost immediately.   Priya: It worked out beautifully. You have very good instincts.   Sally smiled. “I’ll try to remember to check with you next time. I’m still getting used to all this.” The answer arrived only seconds later. “You’re doing wonderfully. And yes, it would be wise to check first. Mostly for your own protection.” Sally nodded unconsciously. She knew exactly what Priya meant. The post itself hadn’t caused any problems. If anything, it had completed the story the world had already been following since Oskar’s birth. Still, Sally could almost picture Priya quietly reorganizing half the communications calendar to make sure official statements, press requests, and media distribution all aligned with one impulsive social media post from the family’s sixteen-year-old heiress. She smiled affectionately. Poor Priya. The woman probably deserved hazard pay. The sound of the pool house door interrupted her thoughts. “Hey, kiddo.” Sally looked up so quickly her towel nearly slipped from her shoulders. “Theresa!” She was already on her feet before she realized it, abandoning both towel and phone on the bench as she hurried across the tiled floor. The hug came naturally. Firm. Warm. Almost instinctive. For a brief moment Theresa simply held her, laughing quietly as Sally squeezed her with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than necessary. When they finally stepped apart, Theresa rested both hands on Sally’s shoulders and looked down at the damp marks spreading across the front of her blouse. “There,” she said with mock resignation. “You’ve soaked me.” Sally looked properly guilty. “Oh no.” “It’s only been a couple of weeks.” “I know.” Sally smiled sheepishly. “I’ve missed you.” Something softened immediately in Theresa’s expression. “I’ve missed you too.” She gave Sally’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Jana’s inside with your parents. We came to meet the newest member of the family.” Sally’s face lit up all over again. “You’ll love him.” “I’m counting on it.” Sally glanced toward the changing rooms. “Give me five minutes?” Theresa nodded. “I’ll wait.” Then, smiling in that calm, quietly protective way that always reminded Sally of an older sister more than an assistant, she pointed toward the changing room. “Scoot.” Sally laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” She scooped up her towel and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Theresa smiling to herself beside the quiet blue water. -- Oskar lay peacefully in the small wicker cradle beside the living room sofa, wrapped in a pale blue blanket that rose and fell almost imperceptibly with each tiny breath. He had been home long enough now that the extraordinary was quietly becoming ordinary. Nobody hovered over him every second anymore. The rhythm of the house had begun settling around him rather than revolving entirely because of him. Every so often he blinked at the shifting light from the windows or followed the vague movement of someone crossing the room, perfectly content to observe the strange new world into which he had been welcomed. Sally sat cross-legged on the sofa beside the cradle, one bare leg folded beneath the other, absentmindedly resting her fingertips against the edge of the basket every now and then, as though reassuring herself Oskar was still there. Across from her, Theresa and Jana occupied the opposite sofa with mugs of coffee, enjoying the rare quiet that seemed to have settled over the Weiss house that afternoon. For a while they simply watched Oskar. It was Sally who finally broke the silence. “How’s the hospital been?” The question came softly, almost cautiously. She knew enough now to understand that Theresa’s recovery had not been straightforward. It had also been happening largely out of sight. Jana glanced sideways at Theresa with the faintest smile before lowering her coffee mug again. Theresa considered the question carefully. “It hasn’t been dramatic,” she said at last. “At least not in the way people usually imagine hospitals.” Sally listened without interrupting. “I’ve never really felt ill,” Theresa continued. “I’ve gone in for procedures, examinations, electrical stimulation, imaging… then I’ve come back out again. Most of the time I’m perfectly capable of walking into the hospital by myself and walking back out again.” She smiled faintly. “That almost makes it stranger.” Sally nodded slowly. “So it’s… treatment.” “Exactly.” Theresa rested her hands around the warm mug. “The kind that requires patience more than courage.” She hesitated briefly before adding with quiet honesty, “Pudendal nerve injuries can be rather… undignified.” Sally tilted her head. “And that’s why you wanted Jana around?” Jana looked up immediately. “I was there because somebody had to make sure she didn’t try answering emails halfway through appointments.” Theresa laughed quietly. “That too.” Jana shrugged. Sally’s expression grew thoughtful again. “I still could’ve come.” Theresa looked at her for a long moment before leaning forward slightly. “Kiddo…” She spoke gently, almost the way an older sister explains something difficult to someone she cares about. “Picture the sort of appointments I’ve been having.” Sally waited. “They measure bladder function. They monitor nerve responses. Sometimes they deliberately fill my bladder through a catheter so they can evaluate how the nerves are communicating. Afterwards there are scans, examinations, more measurements… and occasionally additional neurological testing.” She smiled apologetically. “It isn’t painful most of the time.” “It is simply… very private.” Sally’s cheeks warmed almost immediately. “Oh.” Theresa nodded. “Now imagine you sitting beside me through all of that.” Sally stared at her for a moment before slowly shaking her head. “No…” “I didn’t think so.” Theresa’s smile returned. “I wasn’t trying to keep you away. You already had enough on your shoulders.” Her eyes drifted briefly toward the cradle. “You were visiting your mother every day. You were learning how to hold your brother. You were worrying about him. The last thing I wanted was for you to spend your free hours sitting through appointments that would’ve embarrassed both of us.” Sally finally smiled. “When you explain it like that…” “It makes sense?” “It does.” Jana nodded quietly. “We mostly worked anyway.” Sally looked toward her. “You did?” Jana smiled. “Between appointments we’d review schedules, Foundation planning, correspondence. Theresa refuses to stop mentoring me simply because she’s temporarily a patient.” Theresa looked almost offended. “Recovery is not retirement.” “It certainly isn’t,” Jana agreed. Sally laughed softly before turning back toward Theresa. “So…” She searched Theresa’s face carefully. “Do you actually feel different?” Theresa’s expression became more reflective. “I do.” She answered without hesitation. “It’s gradual. Nothing miraculous happened overnight. But the treatments have restored nerve function that simply wasn’t there before.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “My body is beginning to remember how to communicate with itself again.” Sally absorbed that quietly. “It still takes time,” Theresa continued. “The nerves have to strengthen. The brain has to relearn patterns. I’ll continue therapy for quite a while yet.” “And…” She smiled with characteristic honesty. “I still wear protection. Mostly at night. I don’t entirely trust my body yet. But it’s becoming more precaution than necessity.” Something in that sentence seemed to touch Sally more deeply than Theresa realized. She understood exactly what that felt like. The slow rebuilding of trust. The strange mixture of hope and caution. Not being cured all at once, but discovering one ordinary day that life had quietly become easier. Without saying another word, Sally leaned across the small gap between them and wrapped both arms around Theresa. “I’m really glad,” she whispered. Theresa smiled into the hug and rested one hand gently against the back of Sally’s head, smoothing her hair almost absentmindedly. “Thank you, kiddo.” For a few quiet moments nobody spoke. Nearby, Oskar stretched one tiny arm above his head, made a small sleepy sound somewhere between a sigh and a yawn, and settled comfortably back into his blanket again. The room remained peaceful. Recovery, Sally thought, rarely arrived with fanfare. Sometimes it simply sat together in a living room, drinking coffee while a newborn slept nearby, and quietly thanked God for another small step forward. -- The conversation gradually lost its seriousness and drifted into the kind of easy warmth that seemed to settle naturally whenever Jana and Theresa shared the same room. Oskar remained asleep for only another minute before beginning to stir inside his cradle, stretching one tiny arm upward before making a series of soft grunts that sounded less like crying than quiet objections to being ignored. Before anyone moved toward him, the conversation had already found a new target. Sally. “You do understand,” Jana began, folding one leg beneath herself on the sofa, “that becoming a big sister comes with responsibilities.” Sally narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I’ve noticed everyone keeps saying that.” “Because it’s true.” Theresa nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “Diaper duty.” “The messy ones,” Jana added. “The really messy ones.” Sally grimaced immediately. “I have a feeling you’re both enjoying this conversation far too much.” Theresa ignored the protest. “And diaper rash.” “Wrong cream, wrong timing, unhappy baby.” Jana nodded solemnly. “Very unhappy baby.” Sally looked from one woman to the other. “Guys…” She paused, trying to defend herself. “It’s not like he’s my son.” “No,” Theresa agreed gently. “But he is your brother.” “And brothers,” Jana continued, “have an amazing ability to produce biological surprises.” Sally pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “You’re not frightening me.” “No?” She shook her head. “Not even a little.” Theresa smiled. “Good. Because honestly…”, she leaned back against the sofa, “…it’s wonderful.. Tiring. Occasionally chaotic. But wonderful.” “And your mom is carrying most of it.” She nodded toward the stairs. “You’ll help where you can.” “You’ve also got Renée.” “So no one’s expecting you to become a second mother overnight.” Sally relaxed visibly. “That’s reassuring.” She looked between them curiously. “You both sound like you’ve changed hundreds of diapers.” Jana burst into a laugh. “Absolutely not.” She pointed at herself. “I’m the youngest.” “My contribution to family diaper history was wearing them.” She shrugged with theatrical resignation. “My older brothers considered changing me beneath their dignity whenever Mom was working.” She said it lightly, almost dismissively, but something thoughtful lingered behind the smile. Theresa laughed. “My grandmother practically ran a neighborhood daycare.” Sally looked over. “Really?” “Oh yes.” “Half the children in the neighborhood seemed to pass through her house.” “I’d come home from school and there would be babies everywhere.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “I started helping because there was always something to do.” “A bottle, a blanket, a sleepy baby who only wanted someone to rock them. It never felt like work.” Sally nodded slowly. “That’s actually good to know.” Jana looked sideways toward Theresa. “Careful.” “I think you’ve just been promoted.” “Promoted?” “To honorary aunt.” Theresa laughed. “I’ll take aunt.” Sally smiled warmly. “I think it suits you.” Almost as though Oskar had been waiting for the conversation to include him again, a series of increasingly determined little noises floated out of the cradle. Not crying. Complaining. The three women looked over simultaneously. “There he is,” Jana smiled. “Our supervisor has awakened.” Sally was already on her feet. “I’ve got him.” She bent carefully over the cradle and lifted him with growing confidence, instinctively supporting his head before settling him comfortably against her lap. The complaints disappeared almost immediately. “There,” Sally whispered. “What was all that about?” Oskar blinked up at her with sleepy curiosity before opening and closing one tiny fist. Theresa watched quietly. “He really does resemble you.” Sally looked up. “You think so?” Jana leaned forward, studying the baby carefully. “It’s early.” “But…” She tilted her head. “I don’t know.” “There’s something around the eyes.” “And the expression.” Sally laughed. “He doesn’t even have expressions yet.” Theresa smiled. “Oh, he does.” She counted on her fingers. “Pouting. Demanding attention. Wearing a wet diaper…” “Theresa!” Sally looked scandalized. The other two laughed. “I refuse to believe I was ever like that.” Bridget, had she been there, would almost certainly have disagreed. Oskar, entirely unaware of the conversation surrounding him, found Sally’s finger and wrapped his whole hand around it with astonishing determination. “There.” Sally smiled. “I knew somebody appreciated me.” While Oskar concentrated on maintaining his impressive grip, Jana reached for the tablet resting beside her. “I’ve started putting next week’s schedule together.” Sally sighed dramatically. “So adulthood returns.” “It always does.” Jana scrolled briefly. “Sunday afternoon departure. Teterboro. Monday lunch with Olivia. Dinner with Otto. Tuesday breakfast with Olivia again. Trust discussions. Then after lunch you head to Miami.” She looked up. “And Morgan has you booked for five o’clock.” Theresa raised an eyebrow. “Morgan?” Sally immediately became self-conscious. “The Lamborghini.” Recognition spread across Theresa’s face. “Oh.” “The orange one.” Sally nodded. “She already sent me reading material.” “Actual homework.” “I think she’s trying to convince me the car can kill me.” She smiled sheepishly. “Which…”, she shrugged, “…isn’t entirely inaccurate. But I already love it.” There was unmistakable excitement in her voice despite the nervousness. Theresa laughed softly. “So the rumors were true.” “Sort of.” “I actually planted the rumor myself.” Both women looked surprised. “I wanted to find out who kept leaking things.” She smiled toward Jana. “Katrina immediately adopted the idea.” “She convinced Otto.” “And Otto somehow concluded that buying me an orange Aventador SVJ was the obvious solution.” She looked down at Oskar. “I would’ve chosen something completely different.” “Porsche?” Jana guessed. “I’m absolutely a Porsche girl.” Sally nodded emphatically. “I’ve still got one on order.” She laughed quietly. “But somehow…” She glanced affectionately at Oskar. “…I already own the outrageous Italian one.” During the conversation Oskar had slowly migrated higher against her chest, wriggling with determined little movements until both hands discovered the thin shoulder strap of Sally’s summer top. He clung to it triumphantly. “Oh…” Sally tried discreetly adjusting the strap. “Buddy…” Oskar responded by drooling enthusiastically onto her shoulder. Theresa noticed immediately. “I think I’d better rescue both of you.” She reached forward. “Before he accidentally creates a wardrobe malfunction.” Sally laughed as she carefully transferred Oskar into Theresa’s waiting arms. “First day home,” she said. “And he’s already causing trouble.” Theresa settled him expertly against her shoulder. The change of scenery immediately caught Oskar’s attention. His eyes opened wider than before as he studied the unfamiliar face now smiling down at him. He seemed almost puzzled by Theresa’s warm complexion, dark curls gathered loosely behind her head, and gentle voice. “There we are,” Theresa whispered. “Relax, kiddo.” Sally looked up at once. “Hey.” Theresa blinked. “What?” “You call me kiddo.” “I do.” “That’s my name.” Theresa stared at her for a second before laughing. “I wasn’t aware I’d trademarked it.” Sally suddenly realized how possessive she sounded. She laughed too. “I call him buddy.” Theresa nodded gravely. “Then buddy it is.” She looked down. “Isn’t that right, buddy?” Perfectly content now, Oskar rested quietly against her shoulder, one tiny fist tucked beneath his chin while his eyes wandered elsewhere. “They don’t stay focused very long,” Jana observed. “No.” Sally smiled. “Look.” Oskar had already become fascinated by Jana instead. His dark eyes lingered on her darkvface with quiet concentration, following the movement of her countless fine braids as she leaned a little closer, smiling. “You’ve got his full attention,” Sally said. Jana smiled, not moving too quickly. “I think he’s just trying to figure me out.” She spoke softly enough that only the adults really heard. “He’s meeting a lot of new people today.” Oskar continued staring. His expression carried the solemn curiosity only newborns seemed capable of. Jana’s smile deepened. “He’ll learn.” She looked fondly from the baby to Sally. “And I have a feeling…” “…he’s going to like all of us.” -- The conversation settled naturally again after Oskar had drifted back to sleep. Theresa held him with the effortless confidence of someone who had spent years around infants, one hand supporting his tiny back while the other rested lightly across the blanket. Every so often she gave him the gentlest sway without seeming to think about it. Oskar, apparently satisfied with this arrangement, made no objection whatsoever. Jana glanced down at the tablet balanced across her knees. “So,” she said, slipping almost imperceptibly back into work mode, “next weekend. Anything I should add?” She looked toward Sally. “Elena may technically be your assistant, but I’m keeping her calendar updated while she’s moving between Switzerland and the States. We stay synchronized.” Sally smiled. “I appreciate that.” She thought for a moment. “Erika arrives Friday.” “From Milan?” Sally nodded. “Hauptbahnhof. I’m picking her up there.” “And then?” “We’re spending Saturday together. She takes a train back Sunday morning.” Theresa smiled knowingly. “The grand tour of the apartment.” “My apartment,” Sally corrected with quiet satisfaction. Even now the words still sounded pleasantly unfamiliar. “My apartment.” Theresa glanced around the room. “Our honorary chief designer did rather well.” “She really did.” Sally shifted comfortably on the sofa, folding one leg beneath herself. “The interior designer admitted she was relieved Erika got involved. Apparently it’s much easier designing a home when someone actually understands the person who’s going to live there.” She laughed softly. “Erika picked most of the artwork, fabrics and colors. The professionals concentrated on lighting, storage, technical planning and making sure I don’t accidentally live inside an art gallery.” Theresa nodded approvingly. “That sounds like Erika.” Jana made a brief note. “So…” She looked up again. “Touring Zurich?” “Probably.” Sally shrugged. “Walking. Window shopping. Ice cream.” Theresa gave her an amused look over Oskar’s sleeping head. “A bit more than that if I know you.” Sally raised an eyebrow. “I’ve escorted you through Milan.” “I’ve witnessed what you call ‘just browsing.’” Sally laughed. “That’s different.” “Oh?” “Milan is dangerous. It encourages beautiful decisions.” Theresa smiled. “And Zurich doesn’t?” “Not for clothes.” Sally shook her head. “Milan wins.” She thought for another moment. “Although…” Jana looked up. “It was Erika’s birthday last month. I never properly celebrated with her. Oskar had just been born.” Her eyes drifted briefly toward her little brother. “I wasn’t going anywhere.” She looked back at Jana. “She collects Swatch watches. So I thought maybe…” She smiled. “…I’d find one she doesn’t already own.” Jana nodded approvingly. “That sounds considerably safer than Milan shopping.” “Exactly.” “I’ll ask Roberto to drive you.” Sally frowned slightly. “I can take the tram.” “You could.” Jana didn’t even look up from her notes. “But I would rather you didn’t.” Sally sighed dramatically. “I’m becoming predictable.” “You’re becoming recognizable.” Jana finally met her eyes. “The photograph of Oskar coming home was everywhere. The social media post didn’t exactly stay private.” Theresa chuckled quietly. “No. It certainly didn’t.” Sally buried her face briefly in one hand. “I’ve apologized to Priya already.” “She survived.” “So did the communications department. I think.” Theresa smiled. Before Sally could answer, footsteps sounded softly on the staircase. Bridget appeared in the doorway, one hand brushing absentmindedly through her hair as she glanced around the room. “My goodness,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Where’s the baby who’s overdue for lunch?” Theresa looked down thoughtfully at the peacefully sleeping Oskar. Then she lifted her eyes toward Sally. “There are two of your babies in this room.” She paused just long enough to let the sentence settle. “Which one are you looking for?” Bridget stopped for a heartbeat before laughing softly. Her eyes found Sally first. “I’ve already raised that one.” She smiled with unmistakable affection. “Though I’m not entirely convinced she’s finished growing.” Sally rolled her eyes in exaggerated resignation. “I knew this was going to become a thing.” “It already has,” Bridget said as she crossed the room toward them. “And I rather like it.” -- Sally fell asleep more easily than she had expected, comforted by one simple thought: Oskar was finally home. Before retreating upstairs she had quietly slipped into the nursery for one last look. He had already been tucked into his crib, lying peacefully on his back beneath the soft glow of the nightlight, his tiny chest rising and falling with reassuring steadiness. She had leaned over, brushed a gentle kiss across his forehead, and lingered there perhaps a second longer than necessary before Bridget wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “He’ll be all right,” her mother had whispered. “He’s here.” Sally had nodded without taking her eyes off her brother. Bridget smiled knowingly, gave her a light swat on her bottom, and gently steered her toward the hallway. “Now scoot. It’s well past your bedtime.” Sally had laughed quietly. “Yes, Mom.” She carried that picture of Oskar sleeping peacefully with her as she drifted off. Some hours later, a cry pulled her gently back toward consciousness. Not loud. Not panicked. Just unmistakably newborn.  Sally opened her eyes and lay still in the darkness, listening. Her first instinct was to throw back the covers. Her second reminded her that Oskar was hardly unattended. Renée was sleeping in the guest room immediately beside the nursery, and Bridget had already decided that, for the first weeks at least, Oskar’s crib would spend the nights beside their own bed rather than in the nursery. “Newborns are supposed to stay close,” she’d explained earlier that evening. “Dad doesn’t mind?” Sally had asked. Bridget had smiled. “It was his idea.” Remembering that now, Sally told herself there was absolutely no reason to get involved. Her mother knew what she was doing. Renée certainly knew what she was doing. Her father was probably sleeping through most of it. Everything was under control. She rolled onto her side. The crying continued. Not desperate. Just persistent enough that her imagination refused to settle. He was probably hungry. Or maybe he simply wanted to be held. She closed her eyes again. Lasted perhaps ten seconds. With a resigned little sigh, she slipped out of bed. Halfway across the room she realized she was still wearing only her T-shirt and cotton panties. “Oh.” She quietly pulled on a pair of loose flannel pajama trousers before easing open her bedroom door. The old Zurich house seemed almost suspended in darkness. Moonlight spilled faintly through the stairwell windows while the familiar creaks of old timber accompanied each careful step she took toward the lower floor. As she approached her parents’ bedroom, her confidence evaporated. The door was closed. She suddenly became aware that this wasn’t simply Oskar’s room anymore. It was her parents’ room. She wasn’t about to walk in on the middle of a midnight feeding. Embarrassed by the thought alone, Sally settled quietly onto one of the lower staircase steps instead, hugging one knee loosely against her chest while she listened. The crying gradually softened. Little by little it faded into quiet whimpers. Then silence. Satisfied silence. A few minutes later the bedroom door opened. Bridget stepped into the hallway carrying Oskar against her shoulder, one hand supporting his tiny back while the other gently rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades. She blinked in surprise. “Sally?” Caught, Sally stood immediately. “Sorry…” She smiled sheepishly. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.” Bridget’s face softened all at once. “He is.” She glanced affectionately down at Oskar, whose eyes were already beginning to close again. “He was simply hungry.” She smiled. “Perfectly normal.” “And dad?”, Sally asked quietly. Bridget laughed under her breath. “Your father demonstrated remarkable confidence in my parenting.” Sally tilted her head. “He barely woke up.” That made Sally smile. Bridget looked her daughter over for a long moment. Her hair stood in every conceivable direction. Her eyes were heavy with sleep. She looked entirely too young and entirely too grown-up at the same time.  There she was, standing barefoot in the middle of the hallway after midnight because she had heard her baby brother cry. Bridget’s heart filled almost painfully. She reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair away from Sally’s face. “Now…” Her voice became softer. “This is one of the few things you don’t have to worry about.” Sally looked at Oskar again. “I know.” She shifted Oskar slightly higher on her shoulder. “But this is a mommy moment.” Her hand rested briefly against Sally’s cheek. “You go back to bed. Get some sleep. He’ll still be here in the morning.” Sally leaned forward carefully and kissed Oskar’s forehead. He hardly noticed. His entire attention seemed fixed on deciding whether to fall asleep before or after finishing the last of his contented little sighs. “Good night, buddy,” she whispered. Then she kissed her mother. “Night, Mom.” “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” Bridget remained where she was for another few moments, gently rocking Oskar while she watched Sally climb the staircase again. Her daughter moved more slowly now, still sleepy, one hand trailing lightly along the polished wooden banister as she disappeared toward the upper floor. Bridget smiled to herself. Becoming an older sister, she thought, might require learning when to let go. But tonight, seeing Sally wake simply because she had heard Oskar cry, she realized something else. Love often arrived before experience did.  Everything else could be taught. -- Up in her apartment, she tugged her running gear off and stepped beneath the generous stream of warm water. The heat settled into her tired legs almost immediately, loosening muscles that had complained throughout the run. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and simply stood there for a while, letting the water do its work. The rhythm of jogging had returned, but after two days spent almost entirely thinking about Oskar, her body had reminded her that routines were not resumed quite as easily as they were abandoned. As she reached for the shampoo, she paused. There it was again. Not pain, exactly. More a familiar heaviness low in her abdomen, subtle enough that she might have ignored it if she hadn’t come to know her own body much better over the past year. Her breasts felt slightly tender too, something she had noticed while jogging without quite paying attention to it. She smiled to herself. Right. She mentally counted backward, then forward again, just to be sure. That made sense. Another few days. For reasons she couldn’t entirely explain, the realization comforted her. A year earlier, so much about her own body had been uncertain. Doctors had spoken in probabilities instead of promises. Recovery had been measured in tiny victories, each one hard-earned. Now her body was quietly returning to its ordinary rhythms without asking anyone’s permission. She found herself oddly grateful for how wonderfully unremarkable that felt. After months of missing her period, she was actually glad to have it back again.  The shower lingered a little longer than usual before she finally reached for a towel. The morning air filtering through the open window reminded her that, despite the recent heat wave, Zurich mornings still carried a pleasant coolness. She reached instead for a pair of soft charcoal tracksuit pants and a light cream hoodie, the kind that felt comfortably oversized without swallowing her whole. She tugged the sleeves over her hands almost absentmindedly, and brushed her still-damp hair loose over her shoulders before catching her reflection in the mirror for a brief moment.  “You just want comfortable today,” she murmured. There was no arguing with that. As she headed downstairs, another thought occurred to her. Scrambled eggs suddenly sounded… disappointing. She smiled. Fried eggs. Sausage. Thick slices of buttered toast. Maybe even one extra piece. Not because she needed the calories after her run—though Mia would undoubtedly approve of that explanation—but simply because it sounded comforting. There were mornings when nutrition won the argument, and there were mornings when the soul quietly voted in favor of breakfast. This, Sally decided as she descended the staircase, was one of the latter. -- Mia, the ever-faithful housekeeper, seemed to understand without Sally needing to explain herself. There were mornings for practical breakfasts, carefully assembled around protein and recovery after exercise. And then there were mornings like this one, when nourishment meant something a little different. Mia simply nodded once, disappeared toward the stove, and set about preparing exactly what Sally had quietly hoped for. Sally settled at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee, welcoming its warmth between both hands before taking her first sip. Her phone soon occupied the other. Overnight messages had accumulated from several time zones, the inevitable consequence of friendships scattered across continents. Katrina had already sent three voice messages, Clara had shared photographs from a gallery opening in Hartford, Patricia had confined herself to two sensible lines asking how Oskar’s first night at home had gone, and Charlie had somehow managed to compress genuine excitement into a single sentence that still made her smile. Distance no longer felt quite so distant. The Atlantic Ocean remained where it always had, but conversations flowed across it almost effortlessly. She was halfway through replying when she heard familiar footsteps behind her. “Morning, honey.” Bridget leaned down, kissed the top of Sally’s head, and received the customary half-hug her daughter seemed to reserve for breakfast hours. “Morning.” Sally looked up almost immediately. “Oskar asleep?” Bridget’s smile widened. “He’s with your father.” Sally lowered her phone onto the table. “With Dad?” Bridget laughed softly, already anticipating the expression on her daughter’s face. “He decided I deserved a quiet morning after last night. I wasn’t about to argue.” She pulled out the chair beside Sally and sat down. “As far as I can tell, he’s conducting Oskar’s first executive briefing.” Sally blinked. “His office.” Bridget smiled into her coffee as Mia poured it. “Adam’s there as well. I walked past a few minutes ago and your father looked remarkably pleased with himself.” “What’s Adam doing in the meeting?” “I imagine pretending not to smile.” That image lingered pleasantly in Sally’s imagination: Adrian seated behind the enormous desk that normally hosted board members, executives and attorneys, while tiny Oskar occupied far more of his attention than any quarterly report ever could. Bridget stirred her coffee. “Oh, before I forget—your father asked if you’d stop by after breakfast. He said there was no rush. Just come once you’ve finished eating.” That only deepened the mystery. “It isn’t often I get summoned to headquarters,” Sally murmured. “No.” Bridget smiled knowingly. “Which usually means he has something on his mind.” Mia chose that moment to arrive carrying a plate generous enough to make Bridget raise her eyebrows. Three fried eggs with soft, golden yolks rested beside three browned sausages, half an avocado neatly sliced, roasted tomato, and thick pieces of buttered toast whose aroma alone felt comforting. She placed it before Sally with quiet satisfaction. “There we are.” Bridget glanced from the plate to her daughter. “Hungry?” Sally gave an almost apologetic shrug. “Comfort food.” For a brief moment Bridget simply looked at her, and understanding passed silently between them. She reached over and squeezed Sally’s upper arm. “Good,” she said quietly. “Sometimes that’s exactly what’s needed.” The conversation drifted naturally toward household matters as Mia opened her notebook and began reviewing deliveries, appointments and grocery arrangements for the coming days. It was their established morning ritual, one Sally had listened to for weeks without ever finding it particularly boring. There was something reassuring about hearing adults quietly keep life functioning while extraordinary things unfolded around them. She returned to her breakfast, absentmindedly tearing another piece of toast before dipping it into the runny yolk of one of the eggs. Between bites she glanced once more at her phone, answered Patricia’s message, and then slipped the device face down beside her plate. Her curiosity had already migrated to her dad’s office. What exactly her father was doing with Oskar—and why he wanted to see her afterward—had become far more interesting than anything waiting on her screen.

Oh, Videl got a new, much cuter haircut! Love it! Also, Bulma should've kept her big mouth shut and allowed Chi Chi to have her melt down. Perhaps, Bulma needed to release that stress, but if they're still crying like babies... it won't be a welcoming introduction for poor Videl who has already been through a lot. Just imagining what Videl's going to think when she sees and hears her mother in law and Bulma, crying like this... poor thing....   Another solid chapter! You are on a roll!

Well, since this is a part of your overarching plan for the story, a foster system that tricks its foster parents to regress Littles, I'm not going to ask you to change anything. The DD, especially stories based in an "American" part of the DD, gives a lot of freedom to any writer. I have my doubts that this is necessary, but perhaps there is a state somewhere in the DD that has a foster system this corrupt.    Ultimately, I'm hoping we get that new chapter you mentioned last week this weekend. 

I love the story .