When it comes to fantasies, I'm guessing most women think something along the lines of laying on a tropical beach with Brad Pitt.

Not me.

When my brain has a minute of down-time, I create imaginary conversations with Dr. Jacome, where he calls me at home to tell me that they grossly miscalculated my due date and that Reagan should be born by the end of the week, just in time to be able to use the new childbirth procedure that doesn't hurt a bit and leaves your body looking tighter than it did your junior year of high school. Oh, and I can go ahead and keep the inflated boobs. And wait, wait a second- I won the Free Housecleaning and Nanny service for the next 18 years!

Now nobody speak above a whisper, I don't want to wake up...