Once the confession passes my lips for the first time, it gets harder and harder to keep it in. Drumming along in the background of every conversation...
I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant.
Who cares about your stupid deadline – I’M PREGNANT! In another week, I’ll be 8 weeks pregnant, and then 9 and then 10...”
Don’t feel any different really, maybe that’s why it seems so unreal, like it’s something that’s happening to a character in a book I’m reading.
I keep doing the test, just to make sure. I should take out shares in ClearBlu. And the blood test at a clinic in the city. What a rip-off. But got the results that evening. No room for doubt as the doc enthusiastically reports. But she was enthusiastic about my larger-than-average veins too (“Oooooh, can I have your veins?” “Erm, no…”) so I can’t read too much into that.
Is the vague butterflies feeling in my tummy a sign of some biological development, is an arm or a leg sprouting?
Or is it a general nervous sensation, a sense of anticipation mixed in equal parts with anxiety?
Or is it just the whole process messing with my digestion like the NHS website says?
Just go with it and enjoy the mystery, while it’s still new!