benchmark

As I've said many times, dates don't mean all that much to me. Though it might seem somewhat paradoxical, I've made a conscious -- and successful -- effort not to remember any of the dates that I worried might haunt me. My reasoning is straightfoward: I can't dread anniversaries if I don't know when they are.

There's really only one exception. I know, can't help knowing, that it was at the 18-week ultrasound that we first learned that something was wrong with one of the twins. That's probably not all that uncommon, since that's the "big" ultrasound, the anatomy scan, the time when you'd expect problems to be detected.

Anyway, Kyrie is 17 weeks pregnant as of yesterday, so, at least in theory, she should be scheduling that 18-ish-week ultrasound for sometime soon. It's not exactly that I expect that something is going to go wrong then. It's more that I can't imagine things going right.

But, since I apparently have nothing useful to say on the topic, go read Tash's meditations on dates and their meaning. And keep Janis in your thoughts.