(1. Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Film)

2. I read somewhere that creative writers who use lists are lazy. Maybe it’s true—I don’t feel I have the mental energy to connect disparate thoughts, often, and using a numbered list is relieving. But it also may not be true at all, and the person who wrote that was wrong, and an ass. I’ll leave us all suspended in that uncertainty.

3. There have been concerns, during my pregnancy. Among them, the High-Blood-Pressure Concern (because of a few random headaches and swelling fingertips) (put to rest, as blood pressure is 103 / 65, a great pressure to have), the Hyper- or Hypo-Active Thyroid Concern (because of accelerated hair loss for about two weeks, and because it runs in my family) (put to rest, as TSH is within normal range and I quit losing that weird amount of hair), and the Obesity Concern (because of obesity) (put to rest because I’m not actually obese). The two most recent concerns I will share with you, in case you are 25 weeks pregnant and experiencing similar concerns:

4. The Bra-Size Concern. This concern is precipitated by not being able to figure out what kind of bra to buy (since none of old bras fit, either band or cup), and exacerbated by not being able to find any bras in Target (except sports bras, which hardly count) that fit, and not wanting to ask the fitting room lady for a tag four times in one visit—it feels shameful. (And she seems like a bitch.) So, I used to be a 34B, nice friendly size. My cup size now is I think a C (?), but this problem of band size is horrid. The first time I tried on bras, maybe 6-8 weeks ago, the 34 asphyxiated and the 36 fit snug. This time (yesterday), the 36 asphyxiated and the 38 fit snug. I had brought (on third trip to fitting room) a 36B, 36C, and 38C, and while the band of the 38C fit, the C cup was too big. I left. I didn’t cry.

5. The Bra-Size Concern was partly put to rest last night, however, when I picked up this pregnancy book from the 90’s that Mom found in the free bin at McKay’s, and read that as the uterus gets larger, it not only pushes the lungs upward, but also (indirectly) causes the ribcage to expand. This is important because a pregnant lady needs her normal amount of oxygen plus oxygen for her baby / babies—basically more oxygen with fewer-than-ever square inches of lung space. I had been shocked and depressed that I was gaining “rib-fat” at this astonishing rate, when in fact, it was (probably) just ribcage expansion. Whew!! This doesn’t solve the problem of not being able to find a bra, but maybe I don’t need one, yet.

6. Since I tried really hard to remember what the other concern was that I wanted to share with you, and never could, I’ll just get on with the list.

7. I made a post-partum care package for my friend who’s a couple months ahead of me in her pregnancy, and I can’t believe how exciting it was to make. The last item I wanted, Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott, was actually at McKay’s when I went to look, this morning! What! Shocking! I never have good luck at McKay’s. But it was there, and $4, and I had store credit. Awesome. Also, I would list all the cool things that are going in this care package, but I won’t in case she reads this. I don’t think she’s a reader of this blog, but—in case.

8. I get to have a chicken, cheddar, and arugula sandwich for lunch. Ha ha. Yes. My life is so enviable, right now.

9. Last night, while Marshall was gone to a cousin’s wedding in Atlanta, I had a chicken and cheddar sandwich with roasted okra on the side, and I watched Sherlock. It was a good way to take the bad taste of Target out of my mouth.

10. Today at McKay’s, I also found Mary Oliver’s Thirst, which I’ve wanted for years but could never afford (unsure why this copy was so cheap), and a really clean copy of Marie Howe’s What the Living Do, one of my favorite poetry collections—of all time. It was also cheap, and I think I’ll give it to Rosa, whom I don’t think has read Marie Howe. I hope she likes it. Otherwise I’ll hate her forever. Just kidding.

11. So two copies of Operating Instructions (one for me, since I haven’t read it yet), Thirst and What the Living Do, and I totally got it all with store credit. In tight financial times, this sort of thrifty expenditure is exhilarating.

12. Best for last—not really, it’s last because I forgot about it till just now—I wrote a poem today. For a struggling poet, every poem that is not absolute garbage is a triumph. Even garbage-poems are a kind of triumph, actually, because it means one is actually writing, which oils the gears a little. So, yay.