I suppose I ought to take a minute and let you know what we found out today. It looks as if an X and a Y chromosome got together this time. Or, as a friend put it, I'm "not shooting pink bullets anymore!"
Wow, a boy this time? I'm delighted. But I would have been just as happy if we were having daughter #4. Ten fingers, ten toes, and we're good. Oh yeah, and no genetic defects either, please. The rest of the story behind that one:
Earlier this month, we were called by the blood testing lab. They told us some red flags had gone up. They ran a test for Down's Syndrome. Wasn't that. They ran a test for another disorder called Trisomy 18. Whaddya know? Fairly high chances of having that one. 1 in 89 they said, compared to the standard of 1 in 1,000. I dunno, I thought 1 in 89 chance that something really bad would happen also meant there was an 88 in 89 chance that it wouldn't.
So we talked to the geneticist today. He very nicely explains what the disorder is all about (you know, words like 100% mortality rate, etc.), and that one of the hallmark symptoms of Trisomy 18 is very slow growth and development. Then we went in for the ultrasound, and can you even imagine the big sigh of relief I felt when our bouncing (yes, he was bouncing) baby boy was exactly the right size, and exactly as far along as he was supposed to be. I was giddy. It wasn't so much the extra appendage that my three previous kids had lacked, as much as the fact that the baby was normal, healthy and doing fine. At least they were 99% sure of that. That's okay; those are odds I'd feel comfotable with any day.
And my wife. Yes, she's elated. Which means we're all happy, 'cause if da mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
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