My wife called me at school today to tell me how her doctor’s visit went. I could tell as soon as I heard her voice that something wasn’t right. “They’re telling me it’s no big deal,” she began, and I felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Conversations that start out that way are never full of good news. A sonogram had been part of the visit, and they detected a level of amniotic fluid that was on “the low side of normal.” Other tests followed, and she’s scheduled for another sonogram next week. By the time she left, the doctor told her that the tests looked good and not to worry. Gee, thanks. That’s like telling someone not to think of pink elephants. Friends at work told her not to worry, too; some of them were diagnosed with the same thing and everything turned out fine. That is comforting, but I get frustrated when there’s a problem that I can’t do anything about. Hurry up, baby – if I’m going to worry about you, I’d rather do it while holding you.
15 days until baby