I’m having a baby.

I know this to be true. At six weeks I saw it — my little lima bean with a flashing, pulsating heart. At 10 weeks, I heard that little heartbeat, wooshing away at a mile a minute.

I’m having a baby.

As much as I know it to be true, sometimes I can’t wrap my head around it. Michael and I, we created a person. A perfect little person who is growing and swimming and moving its tiny little hands at this very moment — even though I can’t feel that yet.

It started with a pee stick. Well, three pee sticks, because I didn’t believe the first two. Three pee sticks at 7 o’clock on a Monday morning in October. Three pee sticks that I left sitting in the bathroom for a week, just so I could see the proof every time I went in there.

Proof that this baby, our baby, was in there.

I’ve had a lot of proof since then. Two weeks of head-in-the-toilet dry heaving. Two more weeks of tolerable, yet still painful, nausea. One moment of projectile vomit into the bushes next to a very nice restaurant. A shopping trip for new bras.

And most recently, the very beginnings of a belly, a BABY belly, which although right now looks more like a beer-cookie combo gut, will eventually look unmistakably pregnant.

I touch my stomach all day long. Rubbing circles around where I imagine my baby to be. I have fallen deeply and passionately in love already.

I’m having a baby. WE are having a baby.

I am over the moon.