Enough of this talk about being writer. P’shaw. I’m making a human inside my belly. I am fulfilling my physical purpose as a woman. I am filling that innate desire I’ve had since I was a little girl. I’m adding to the world, one brilliant child at a time. I am a creator of life, a giver of love, a master of nausea, a champion of unusual and bizarre symptoms, a builder, a baker, a candlestick maker.

So, no. I won’t clean the litter box. And stop asking me to do things. I’m busy.