Last week I hit 24 weeks.
Usually, this is a happy time for me, as for any pregnant woman. Twenty-four weeks is viability, meaning that the baby has a greater than 50% chance of living should it be born.
I noticed it. I always notice it. It is usually accompanied by a feeling of relief.
Not this time. Just more sadness.
The good news is, at my midwife appointment I told Lauren about the ultrasound technician calling someone else in and the two of them loudly discussing what was wrong in front of me, and she was appropriately horrified. I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but I do want them to know it was insensitive as fuck. Hopefully they can look in my chart and find out who did the u/s and tell her not to do that again.