Tempest is awake. And pissed. Or hyper. I'm not sure which, but no part of my abdomen is safe from his fury. Thankfully he's still small enough that it's just an odd feeling - I'm grateful that as he grows, the amount of space he'll have to build momentum will shrink; otherwise I might wind up with a broken rib or six.
I'm on my fifth straight work day out in the field; in a different district every day. The upside is that I get to go home every night. The downside is that I work 11 or 12 hour days, and it's seriously wearing me down. Thankfully tomorrow is the last one for this week, and then I only have one more until the end of April. This is not to say I won't still have plenty of work to do, but I'll be able to do it in the office, in 8-hour work days.
Anyway, our next OB appointment is a week from today. I don't think there's going to be much to report, but it's a visit.
I.F. called me last week. He said he read the articles that the ultrasound doctor mentioned at our last visit, and by the sounds of it, he agrees that there isn't enough evidence, and too small a sample size to really be able to conclude anything about a dangling choroid plexus. I'm glad, too. He works full time and is a dad to a toddler to boot; he doesn't need extra stress.
I guess that's my rant for now. I'm only writing because I need to look busy. I work too fast for my own good, sometimes.
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