let's get physical
This morning I don't feel too bad, for once. The last week has been ghastly - queasiness morning, noon and night and sometimes actually retching - poor TA has had to bully me in to eating. On the upside, my cups continue to runneth over and my cleavage would make Dolly Parton blush.
The hospital visit started, obviously, with a trip to the loo. I was pleased that my innovation served me well. These days I don't leave home without my funnel - I refuse to fear the wee pot.
I had been glugging water all morning in preparation for the ultrasound only to be told in passing that since the scan was internal there was no need. I hadn't realised there was such a thing as an internal ultrasound, but I suppose I'm just going to have to get used to medical personnel having their wicked way with me.
Despite TA being forced to observe his wife having what appeared to be a narrow sex toy covered in lube inserted by a sexy nurse (I told him he should have watched the L Word), the scan went well and the nice sonographer told us that I was six-and-a-half-weeks pregnant by length of sprout. All looks well, sprout is happily eating yolk in the egg sack.