On Our Love-Hate Relationship with Parenting Books
“Just come in for an ultrasound when you’re ten weeks along,” the voice on the phone answered blandly.
Ten weeks. Ten weeks was a month away. A month of nothing to do but brainstorm excuses for why I wasn’t drinking as I waited for morning sickness to kick in. No blood tests, no urine tests, no proof of this thing happening inside of me but two peed-on sticks and tender breasts.