It’s Black Friday, and I can tell you what I’m not doing: leaving my house. I don’t go to malls or Costco on a quiet day. Mama didn’t raise no fool.
The dogs are out back digging holes in the snow and eating their poop and whatever else it is they do outside. I hope I’m kidding about the poop. But the rott(en)weiler has been known to do that, and more. Bleaching the brain to tamp the visual doesn’t help. I know.
The twins are at school, and 19 and MomG are easing into the day themselves. I’ve got an Apple Pumpkin scented candle on the go, and here’s hoping I don’t have to do anything more complex between now and after school pickup than decide if I want to have peanut butter toast for lunch or make a grilled cheese sandwich.
In grandbaby-related news, I’m as angry and frustrated with medical students as I’ve ever been, which is to say, a lot.
I’ve been around long enough to understand that ultrasounds as diagnostic tools aren’t perfect and the results are subject to wide interpretation depending on the skill and experience of the techs who do them and the doctors who read the reports, but if you’re going to misread a picture and allow young, nervous, first-time parents to believe that their baby may be stillborn because you told them there was a blood clot in the umbilical cord, you should own the consequences and listen to their concerns. And maybe apologize for making that mistake. Because it’s HUGE.
Luckily, there is no clot. There never was one. The placenta, however, isn’t functioning at 100%, which is enough to have MomG’s care bumped up to the High Risk Unit with weekly ultrasounds. We were as prepared as anyone can ever be for a possible premature baby, but if things go the way we have been fervently praying for, Baby M may be a term (or much closer to term) birth after all.
There’s nothing you can sell me that I want badly enough for this. Stay home.