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.
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