It's week fifteen, and Aly's doctor did a quad screening to check for disorders like Down syndrome. Today we got the results - and we're in the clear. Since I think of Emery as mine, I think of his baby as mine by extension. Besides, I helped conceive it. I care about this baby already and I'll try to be part of its life. So I'm relieved by the good news.

Baby's started flexing its new muscles by now, clenching its tiny fists, making facial expressions. It weakens me just thinking about it.

Meanwhile, wedding planning is ongoing, and Emery hates the stress thereof. So much work. Thoughts. Considerations. Potential disasters. Time in advance. Alterations. Tests. Trials. Appointments. Samples. More potential crises. Money, money, money.

"I'm pretty sure every normal guy feels exactly the same," I assure him as we head back to the ward. "Just let Aly plan it."

Switching back to our work, we brace ourselves mentally for the challenge of updating family members about the condition of their loved ones.