The sound of my 10-week-old baby-to-be's heartbeat filled the room, caroming off the walls, as percussive as a marching band. The nurse practitioner who'd strapped the fetal monitor to my belly smiled. "Wow, that child is already so strong," she said. "The next few months of your life are going to be very interesting." I didn't pay much attention. I was too enraptured with this raucous new life sparking inside me—the first science project I had ever, to my knowledge, performed correctly. But I soon discovered the truth in my nurse's veiled warning. The next 6 months were plenty interesting. I experienced elation, despair, indigestion, fluctuating blood sugar, and a mad craving for pineapple juice—not to mention the vomiting. It was the loveliest and most disagreeable time of my life.
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