Seven years into the marriage I gained fifteen more pounds. I've always ate whatever I felt like eating. I have poor impulse control and even now sounds and smells send me reeling for strange cheeses and meats. I don't differentiate between whims and cravings, and I seek out whatever foods my fancy is directing me towards. This, coupled with my indifference toward my period, distracted me from my pregnancy for two months. I'd eat eggplants and hot sauce-- apples dipped in molasses. I'd add salt to my potato chips. I tried to stuff all the world's diversity into my mouth. My morning sickness slipped in under the radar too. After drinking a mug full of vinegar and oil salad dressing and eating several tins of sardines, the nausea seemed like a healthy reaction.
Finally, Jay bought me a home pregnancy test. I urinated into a small plastic cup and dipped the stick in. My urine was the gold color of warm beer. It gave the stick its secret. My body carried someone else inside of it. You're a mom, the stick told me. I'm a mom I told myself. I'm a mom. I told Jay and he said "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit" over and over again. He hugged me and licked at the soft space where my jaw and ear meet.
