
Three weeks ago, I walked alone into the Sonogram room at Morristown Memorial Hospital. I was 14 weeks pregnant and had bizarrely gotten food poisoning from a restaurant here in my neighborhood of Hoboken, NJ. I wanted to make sure the baby was okay after putting up with my three days of vomiting my guts out.
I was alone because my husband was at work. He’d gone to the first appointment with me at seven weeks, when it was too early to hear that comforting whoosh sound of the baby’s heartbeat. We’d both stared at the spaceship-like shape that
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