Supermom and dubiety

Last night while Lieutenant and I were in the parking lot to go to the grocery store, I smelled waffles.

Sure enough, after we left the store, we drove past a waffle house to get to the gas station. The Waffle house was a mile away. Why is it that I have a super sense (of smell), and yet still have to get up two times per night because I either have to go to the bathroom or eat something? I suppose all superheroes have their own vulnerabilities.

Apparently Waffle House is "the dark southern twin to IHOP."

Last week LT and I were talking about my being pregnant, and how he only has my word to go on. (And, of course, the pregnancy tests. I didn’t have the time or resources to steal bodily fluids from an assuredly pregnant woman for them, I had to provide my own.) It is a leap of faith, this believing you are pregnant. All I have to go on is the symptoms: being tired all the time (I barely sleep at night, then sleep in all morning), having to pee every 15 minutes, being subject to the most inefficient appetite I have ever known, having baby cramps, and of course the lack of my monthly visitor as well as two pairs of little blue lines shouting at me from a plastic stick.

I would very much like to hear my baby’s heartbeat soon, as it should have started more than a week ago. But my general doctor’s appointment is a week from today, and then they have to refer me to an OB/GYN, and then I have to get an appointment with them. There has to be a faster way to going about all of this. I want my husband to see and hear an ultrasound before he deploys, which very well may be in four weeks! Uffda. Thankfully my hormones aren’t raging this minute, or I might be sobbing uncontrollably. Usually the hormones emerge when the Lieutenant has come home and taken off his jacket. Then I have a cottony t-shirt to soak.

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