I’m still pretty heavily entrenched in the land of denial, but a few things (along with having heard a heartbeat via dopler mic on my abdomen that did not belong to MY heart) lead me to believe that perhaps I am indeed still harboring a passenger in my uterus.

-I have to eat in the middle of the night.  Menu items stashed in the bedside table drawer have included half of a peanut butter and honey sandwich, half of a muffin, half of a granola bar, Life cereal, and Ritz crackers.  And no, Nabisco and Quaker are not paying me.

-Every time I use the bathroom I expect to see blood, but don’t.  If I get up to pee in the night I turn the light on to make sure it’s an accurate inspection.  A history of miscarriage can make even the most hopeful person paranoid. And I am not the most hopeful person.

-I am more than happy to shove my gloved finger up my bum if it makes me less nauseated. Thank you, suppositories.   I owe you one.

-I have the following items in my handbag:  Chex Mix, mixed nuts, beef jerky, animal crackers, a granola bar, and an ever-dwindling supply of tissues.   Only one of those is related to my preschooler.

-It is very hard to be charitable about the odor of a homeless person when in the throws of “morning” sickness.   I tried, I really did.  And I still feel bad about the gagging.

-The days of zipping up my pants are numbered.

-Crying whilst eating saltines in the bathtub feels every bit as pitiful as it would seem.

So I suppose until something indicates otherwise, I’m in this for the long-haul.  Wish me luck.