Friday, December 02, 2011
The Circle of Life
When the technician told me her daughters' names, I said, "Oooh! Those are good ones! We're always looking for good "S" names since our last name starts with an S" (and it's fun to alliterate, obviously). Her lack of a response told me with certainty that the baby is a boy—no Sophias or Sadies for us—but Dr. Husband pointed out that she's a medical professional and unlikely to reveal information she's not supposed to. God knows those people never slip up! Still, I'm assuming boy. Samuel? Scott? Silas? Singer?*
The baby appears healthy and strong with no obvious markers of obvious problems, which is fitting since people in this family tend to have more subtle kinds of problems—the kind that require therapy, not the kind that require intervention by a team of specialists. (Though now that I think about it, I can imagine any number of ways in which intervention by a team of specialists would have been/would still be a GODSEND.)
I was reading through the radiologist's report, happily noting all the "normals" (not to mention the "singles"), when I glanced at the top of the page and saw, "Detailed screen for fetal anomalies — Advanced Maternal Age."
I'd forgotten that at 36 I'm ooooooooooold. I do feel kinda creaky nowadays, but I assumed that was from this damp climate and carrying around an extra 20 pounds in my mid-section and a 27-pound toddler in my arms. Not so. It's because I'm elderly. Advanced. Old.
Now get over here so I can call you by the wrong name and pinch those rosy cheeks and force you to eat some peanut brittle.
*None of these are names we would actually use. Unless something tragic happens to Dr. Husband before the baby is born, in which case Silas and Singer will both be back in play.)
photo courtesy julesinky, morgueFile