I have a synapse missing.
I keep getting pictures of my soon-to-be twin nieces/nephews from my proud mother-in-law. The latest batch was ultrasound stills of them at 13 weeks. I know I'm supposed to gurgle with glee when I see proof of their existence. (I don't think I'm supposed to comment on their cuteness, unless a distinct resemblance to a hurricane on weather radar is an example of cuteness.)
But I can't open more than one picture. Because they truly squick me out.
(Not much totally disgusts me. Except eye injuries or watching eye surgery. Bleggh. The WORST medical experience I ever participated in didn't disgust me at all. It was flushing a "mummified" foal from the pus-filled uterus of an aged mare. Truly gross. And smelly. And yuck. But I wasn't disgusted by it. Just concerned about the mare, really. And worried that we were never going to be thorough enough and that this infection could kill her and angry that the former owner had shipped her to us with a temperature and how could he not have known that there was something wrong and do we have enough DMSO and where's the rest of the case of Ringer's Lactate and what's her pulse and how do we dispose of this crap and how do we keep the barn cats out of it? But my stomach never turned over.)
Ultrasound pictures of unborn babies make my stomach turn over.
Which is not a good reaction when the proud parents point to the picture on their refrigerator, he with his arm around her waist, she with a bright smile on her round face as they say, "Isn't it wonderful?"
And all I can think of are anti-abortion protesters.
There's a disgust and a hot rage and a feeling of nausea or maybe fear I feel when I see an anti-abortion protest, even on TV. It's like watching a lynch mob, or maybe a lynching. That hot sweat of fear behind the ears. The stomach cramps. The panic of, "I don't know what I can do. I don't know what to say. I need to go be safe somewhere else."
That's what I experience when I see an ultrasound of an unborn baby. Oh please don't make me look at this. Don't try to prove to me that you have life within you. I believe you, really, without the photographic evidence. No. No. I mean it. It's OK. I'm happy that your happy, but you don't need to show me ALL of your bodily functions, right?
Dear Butcher carries an ultrasound of our son in his wallet. And sometimes just knowing that makes me slightly ill.
So what do I say to the mother-in-law when she sends me pictures? The same thing I always say, "Thanks for the pictures! Bet you can't wait!"
But I wonder about the synapse.