"Hello?"

"I am going to kill him."

"Who? Donald Trump? You're not the only one with the thought, but I really don't recommend…"

"No. Doyle. This is his fault. He impregnated me and now I'm losing my mind and my body in one fell swoop. Can I sue? I want to sue."

"You'd know that better than I would. Didn't you want to go to law school?"

"Breach of contract, intentional infliction of emotional distress…"

"Here we go…"

"Treason."

"Alright, now you're just being ridiculous."

"This is awful, Rory, awful. I'm sick all the time, I can barely work, hell, I can barely stand. Everything tastes like other things, everything smells awful unless I Pine-Sol it to death, and Doyle just gets to go on his merry way, smiling and goating about how delicious dinner smells, how happy he is that 'we' are having this baby. We? There's no we. Before there was a we. Now there's a me, and a lot of soreness and discomfort and it's all his fault. And don't even get me started on the doctor hunt."

"Not going well, huh?"

"One of them told me to smile."

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious. He actually told me to smile. I told him he could shove his Yale degree up his condescending, second-rate ass."

"Can asses condescend?"

"Well considering how much he was talking out of his...and then the next one was such an earth mother hippie dipshit I about lost my mind."

"How on earth did you end up interviewing a hippie doctor?"

"My rabbi recommended a doula."

"A doula?"

"I told him I'd at least try interviewing her. But my god, the woman is anti-vaccine. The second I'm in labor I want an epidural the size of a spaceship shoved into me before I have time to ask for it."

"Fair enough."

"She recommended a water birth. A water birth! She said it would soothe the pain."

"I've heard…"

"Do not finish that sentence, or I swear to you I will drive to Philadelphia and slit your throat."

"Little harsh, Gretch."

"What's that from? Don't be quippy. I'm not in the mood for quippy. I need someone to remind me that not everyone in the world is stupid, incompetent, lazy, pigheaded, or obnoxious."

"You love Doyle."

"He knocked me up. I hate Doyle."

"But you love Doyle."

"Lots of people murder in the name of love. Remember the Crippins?"

"You've got a lot of murder on the brain today. Isn't pregnancy supposed to make you glowing and peaceful?"

"The glowing is sweat and everything else is a goddamned lie."

"But when you're done you'll get a baby!"

"A baby that I will have to take care of. You think Doyle will 'help'? Sure, he'll 'help'. He'll pick up dinner or change one diaper. I'll be stuck with all of the work."

"If the Kardashians can do it so can you."

"Those women started an entire empire off of one sex tape. There's plenty they can do that I can't. Probably most of them involve contorted body positions and self-tanner, but regardless…oh! And Terrence! He wants me to hire this guy who will vacuum out my baby."

"I don't even know where to start with that one. You still talk to Terrence? And you can vacuum out a baby?"

"Yes and yes. He's out of his third rehab stint and doing quite well. Happily married after the new ruling and instructing yoga out in San Francisco. He also wanted me to get bangs, so clearly he needs a little more intervention before he's all there."

"Paris, you're gonna be fine."

"How can you say that? You don't know. You've never done this before."

"Call my mom. She's done this before."

"She was sixteen! She had the distractions of finals and John Cleese to guide her through the pain. I have to contend with a full time medical career and a husband who only makes things harder."

"So wait...you're saying it's easier being a pregnant single teenage mother?"

"I'm just saying I do things better on my own."

"You're cracked."

"I'm going to crack if I can't find a doctor."

"Let me see who Lane used. She liked hers."

"Fine, I guess it can't hurt. Thanks."

"No problem. It really will be okay, you know."

"If it's not I'm going to send the thing to you in the mail."

"Stop calling your unborn child a thing, Paris."

"But it's not…"

"Okay, enough talking now. Goodnight, Paris."

"Everything okay?" Jess asked, lying down next to Rory in bed. She sighed.

"As okay as ever in Paris-land." He smirked and nodded. He reached over to touch her and immediately she turned away.

"Absolutely, 100% not tonight."

"Are you…"

"Dead serious."

"Rory…"

"Goodnight, Dodger."

"Paris is going to pay for this."