Snow Elf, the sequel

I am eight and a half weeks pregnant.

"I'll eat my hat if I'm pregnant!" I boldly announced to a friend the other day. "I may be late, but I don't feel anything!" She smirked and then handed over a spare Clearblue. I stared and stared at the result, and then stared and stared at the Norwegian instructions. The window showed a + sign, which means "Gravid" (a - means "Ikke Gravid.") In shock I trotted off to the pharmacist, and hunted about for a test with English instructions. I think they call this denial.
No English, but the German, Italian and French instructions all told me I was "schwanger", "enceinte" and...OK, I've forgotten the Italian...but knocked up, in the family way, up the stick.

We are extremely happy. A kind of solid happiness that even the words "Double Buggy" cannot falter..But it is early days, maybe too early to tell the world, but the sickness has started and I can't pretend I've got gastroenteritis. At the moment I am on 1-3 yaks a day, unpleasant enough, but a Caribbean holiday compared to the night-and-day yakfest I experienced first time round. Still, the tiredness is very extreme and I've spent most of the last 2 weeks in bed, or standing on the street in my pyjamas, asking strangers if they wouldn't mind taking Emma out for a bit.