I’m supposed to be posting adorable pictures of my kids pimping themselves out for tootsie rolls (yuck) all over town, but I can’t right now.

I’m fretting.

I had my ultrasound today. It was awesome, other than the fact that I was there by myself. The ultrasound tech really took a lot of time with me, explaining every single thing she measured.

And she measured a lot of stuff. A lot of stuff.

At the time, I mentioned that this ultrasound was incredibly more thorough than any other prenatal ultrasound I had received with either of my other two kids. But I just assumed that it was because time changes, technology changes, etc. I assumed it was because I am just so amiable of a person. I assumed it was because I was her last scan of the day.

It never occurred to me that she was looking for something.

It was amazing what you could see. Every little vertebrae of the spine, the ribs, the chambers of the heart. The hands and feet, squished up against the side of my uterus, waving hello. The perfect little profile, an upturned nose, and sweet lips that already seemed to be rooting for food.

Together, the tech and I counted off the perfections. Closed cleft area, two nostrils: check. Fingers and toes: check. Four chambers of the heart: yup. Kidneys: beautiful. Man parts: check. (Yes, I was totally right. Snoodle’s a boy!) His belly, head, leg bones, and spine all measured in sync with one another, and all are perfectly on track for my due date.

And then I was sent off to the OB/GYN’s office to wait. And lord amighty, did I wait. I waited for almost 45 minutes. I heard her pick the chart up off the door, and look it over. But she did not walk right in. It took about five more minutes before she entered.

And when your doctor starts her visit with, “I’m going to tell you something that you totally don’t need to freak out about, but you probably will and I need you to know that we’re just erring on the side of caution, okay?”

Gulp.

Apparently, Snoodle has bilateral choroid plexus cysts. It’s actually quite common for these to be discovered in a second trimester ultrasound (detected in one in 100 women,) and for most of these babies there is no consequence. In fact, most adults have at least one choroid plexus cyst. However. In a teensy tiny miniscule portion of those pregnancies in which CPC’s are detected? Um, not so good. Trisomy 18.

And Trisomy 18 is “not compatible with life.”

Um.

So, that’s what she was looking for, and why I had the world’s most thorough ultrasound. Apparently, Snoodle’s CPC’s are what they call “isolated.” Statistically speaking, because all of the other markers (smaller-than-normal head, single umbilical artery, kidney malformations, heart defects, club hands, cleft palate, etc) are not present, the chances that Snoodle would have Trisomy 18 are infinitesimally small.

But the chance is still present.

So the next step is for me to travel to KC and have a “level 2″ ultrasound. It is very probable that by the time I have this ultrasound, Snoodle’s CPC’s will have resolved themselves, as over 90% of isolated CPC’s do by the 28th week. And all I will have to show for my hour-long drive and my worry are more incredible pictures of my incredibly perfect baby boy.

But it’s not the best scenario for someone like me or Hubs, as both of us are natural-born worriers.

God, are we worriers.

In a switch from the norm, researching Dr. Google has actually put my mind more at ease with where we are. I saw the ultrasound, I asked a lot of questions, and I know just how dead-on perfect everything else was. I know in my heart that everything’s okay. But my head is taking a while longer getting to that happy place.

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In other news, the kids were not only totally surprised that Snoodle’s a boy, but Funk burst into tears and has argued about it with me all night. Even after I showed her his penis in the ultrasound, she argued that Snoodle is a girl.

“I want a sistuh!” she wailed.

Oh, baby. I’m sorry. You get what you get. Even if what you get is the crap scared out of you.