I had lunch with E last week and was complaining about how my usual anxiety has spiked with my pregnancy.  I can't figure out how pregnant I am, to start with.  I know it seems like a pretty easy thing to figure out, but I'm so so desperate to be further along I keep confusing myself (for the record, I really now think I'm only four weeks).  I'm afraid to exercise- everyone says I can but it seems like a stupid risk.  But if I don't exercise, I'm afraid of getting pregnant lady diabetes.  I'm afraid of eating junk food.  I'm worried about telling people I work with about the pregnancy.  How many baths can I take?

"Aren't you supposed to get "What to Expect When You're Expecting?"  E asked during a break in my stream of neurotic consciousness.  Ahh yes.  A book.  T and I went to Borders that night, and I felt immediately better.  I felt so much better in fact, I felt stupid for waiting two weeks to buy the book.

So now I'm armed with some calming facts and can't bring myself to worry about the Bean anymore.  I feel like it's safe in there for now.  I'm still worried about work, but according to the constant dreams I've been having about it...everything will be ok.