I just had the longest sonogram of my life. I was on the table for about an hour as the tech slid the probe around my stomach, checking to make sure this little nugget is all good. If you have a baby after the age of 35, you are basically considered old AF and they want to be sure nothing is developmentally or genetically wrong with your wee one because you are basically dead inside according to the medical community. But, bonus! This means you get extra tests and ultrasounds throughout your pregnancy.

I was considered old with Evie too, but they never did this intense amount of testing. Maybe 40 is a whole other ball game? Maybe it’s just because I had to switch OB’s and this is the way the run things. Whatever the case, my ass was on that table for an hour, viewing the videos and images of baby girl #4 who is growing inside me. But the time spent watching her wasn’t what made the appointment seem so very, very long…

I got home that day and was telling Vince about my visit. He didn’t realize the point of the consultation was to prep for a future microblading session. He thought I was just getting advice on how to grow my eyebrows. At least that’s what I think he was thinking because after I told him about my day he just said “that’s cool. How long will it take for them to grow in that way?” 

I immediately shot him down and said they wouldn’t. There are gaps, see?! It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Hair just doesn’t grow there….

Then, later that night it hit me. Like a lightning bolt.

You. fucking. moron.

“I’m scared Mom.” When she followed up with those three words, it didn’t matter that this lockdown was out of an abundance of caution. It didn’t matter that there was no clear threat. I started to break a little. Maybe part of it was because I’m pregnant and my hormones are heightened. But I also think it was because, on this day, it became too much. It was too soon after seeing….

That video.

There are many things that I think about in my mind that I would never do. I think all minds are like that, right? If not, I suppose I have issues.

For example, kids constantly push you to your “limit.” And you have these split-second thoughts about THE MANY options you have. Seriously, there are so many things you COULD do. You could run away, chose violence, chose neglect, etc. You can think of some horrible options. But, while you think those thoughts, most of us out there CHOOSE the kind choice, the loving choice, the right choice. It doesn’t mean that, for a moment, your mind doesn’t go to a dark place.

At least, mine does. Not all the time. I’m not sitting here constantly thinking of horrible things. But I do occasionally have dark thoughts. Thoughts that I push away because I’m not that type of person. Thoughts I push away because I am not the one thinking those thoughts. I am the one hearing them. I’m hoping that’s totally common, and people just don’t talk about it because they are embarrassed that their minds go to that place.

This post isn’t about my kids, though. This dark thought moment is about my dog. My aging, one paw (maybe 2) on the rainbow bridge, dog.

We arrived at the doctor’s office. You know when you walk into a place, and you immediately feel like something is off? That’s how I felt. This place was bare bones. No frills. Not even a fake plant in the corner. No posters on the wall about smart skin care. Like they just popped up shop here temporarily and threw in the necessary office supplies. Maybe I was biased. Our prior derm also did plastic surgery in another wing of their building so when you walked into their office, you were slapped in the face with elegance. Tiled floors. High ceilings. Swanky furniture.

You were dropping money there…and it showed.

Not here. Oh no. This looked like a place you’d get Narcan.

I’d like to think I’m a pretty great mother. Especially compared to what I had growing up. But I have to admit, there is one part of being a parent …