There is a bright side, after all-two bright sides in fact.

Maybe it’s just lying here quiet that does it, but I haven’t been ill at all. The books say "morning sickness" lingers for twelve weeks, but my strong-as-a-horse stomach is gaining.
The effect on Paw Pat is wonderful to behold. The original clucking hen, he’s been reading up and has decided that I oughta have a burning desire for pickles, or something; so, anything to oblige, I’ve been hankering like mad. Each eve I greet him with a brand-new crave.

Now it happens that he has been trying to get back his football figger for the glory of the Army, and that means losing some twenty pounds, so our diet these past months has been minus proteins and sweets. The doctor (to my unending awe at the analytical wonders of science) informed me that my system is lacking in carbohydrates and sugars, and that I must therefore eat lots of candy. All I have to do now is hanker and Patrick brings home a candy bar or a chocolate sundae.

At heart I’m a little disappointed. I wouldn’t mind a real craving-anything for a concrete sign of this pregnancy I’m beginning to doubt all over again. There’s Blanche, who had an insatiable desire for “chow-chow”. And Gladdie, who consumed bananas by the stalk. Even Peggy, who, except for an ever-enlarging stomach, has no symptoms at all, admits there was a week or two when she wanted spaghetti for breakfast. Why can’t I even want a pickle?

I can’t work up a good “hate” either-that’s another of those pregnancy signboards that is supposed to face every woman who is two months "gone".

If only something would happen. I almost wish I’d be sick again in the mornings. The only difficulty these days is an occasional good old-fashioned ache in my stomach, and a feeling that a good oldfashioned bar-room burp would make me very, very happy. But I can’t find any book that says that means you’re pregnant!