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I could wait to write this.
I could wait until my grandson had CTE.
But then it would be too late.
The horse would have left the barn.
There would be no use in closing the barn door then.
So I write it now.
In the hope it might make a difference.
Grandson recently turned 14.
I probably won’t have any more grandchildren.
His mother, my daughter, was 40 when he was born.
The pregnancy is one of the few times her weight reached triple digits.
I thought she looked good.
She, on the other hand, seemed a subscriber to the concept that a chic woman could never be too rich or too thin.
The pregnancy was not easy (for a time she had symptoms of thoracic outlet syndrome) and her labor was appropriately named.
It was long and laborious.
As her labor progressed, I thought she might have to undergo a C-section.
My adult son is in a long-term relationship with a lovely woman whose daughters graduated college some years ago.
Even if they were inclined to have a child, she is post-menopausal.
Neither of them is inclined to adopt, I suspect.
My grandson has surpassed me in both height (168 cm) and weight (60 kg).
