In Which I Fight My Innate Hunger for Too Much Information

It's 8:49 p.m. and I'm about to pass out. I'm at work, though, so that's not possible.

I just finished reading a great and funny book, Expecting Adam, about a Harvard woman who discovers mid-pregnancy that her son has Down's Syndrome, and decides to keep him. It's a wonderful book, you should read it whether you're pregnant or not, and it did just what I secretly hoped it might -- it made me less afraid.

When you're pregnant, doctors come at you from all directions offering diagnostic and screening tests. I have accepted all of them so far, including one in which a nurse drew NINE vials of blood from my arm to see if our baby could have Tay Sachs disease, something that my doctor told me only happens when two Jews of Eastern European descent conceive a child. I explained that my mom grew up Catholic and Husband converted, but the doctor who saw me after Oh Shit Part I didn't seem to care.

The quad-screen is the latest of the doctors' offerings, and I pretty well said yes to it without thinking. After I answered, though, I brooded over it. I don't know a whole lot about it, but I gather that the quad is a screening test that gives you the percentage chance your baby has any number of genetic abnormalities, including Down's Syndrome. It requires further testing to diagnose anything.

I went home wondering what it would take for me to want to end this pregnancy? I can't fathom making that decision, but I also can't fathom finding out that my child will be deformed or "abnormal." Pregnancy brings many scary questions, but most of them boil down to self-examination: Can I really do this?

Expecting Adam calmed me, not necessarily because Adam was wonderful and also had Down's, but mostly because it reinforced that's it is up to me whether I enjoy this time or fret constantly. It's up to me whether I let myself revel in the miracle happening to us, or shroud the magic around me in gritty grey reason, diminishing it by demanding a rational answer for everything.

--

In other news, one of my co-workers gave me a bag load of maternity clothes today. Kind deeds like that make the sisterhood of moms feel real; it makes me feel like other mothers -- even career-driven newspaper reporters -- will accept a 23-year-old who knows nothing about being a mom into their ranks.

Also, a shout out to Husband who cooked me Mac and Cheese and brought it to me hot at work at 8 p.m. Yes, I do realize every day that I snagged one of the best.