I started feeling nauseous today – at 4am, then again at 6am and so on, for the rest of the day.

I shook DH awake on the second visitation and told him, “I’m feeling sick,” I said, hoping he’d spring to his feet and make me a marmalade toast. “That’s great news,” he said, before turning over and falling back asleep.

I met my sister for breakfast and told her of my malaise. “I don’t feel so well myself actually,” she said, “I’m very run down at the moment.”

I called my Mum this afternoon for advice, “I don’t have any” she said. Then Dad came on the phone “I don’t think you’ve got morning sickness,” he said, “it’s not morning. You should see a doctor.”

I’ve given up trying to explain to my Dad how a DVD player works, let alone the biology of morning sickness so now I find myself with only a box-set of 80s Brat Pack movies to keep me company as my stomach turns cartwheels.

I re-visit the GP tomorrow to re-convince her of my pregnant state. Maybe she’ll take me seriously if I vomit on her shoes.