Annie sat at her kitchen table with her notebook open, one hand resting on her belly. Thirty-seven weeks. The measurements were getting harder to take on herself, and soon she'd lose access to her most reliable data source. She needed more subjects. Preferably local. Preferably willing to let her take fourteen different measurements twice a week. She'd heard about the spa from another surrogate at a clinic appointment. The building itself was shaped like a pregnant torso, complete with a rounded dome that caught the afternoon light. Annie arrived with a stack of flyers and her measuring tape in a canvas bag. The receptionist looked at the flyer — "Participate in Groundbreaking Research on Pregnancy Aesthetics" — and said she'd need to speak with the manager. Annie waited on a curved bench that matched the building's design. When the manager came out, she scanned the flyer and asked three questions. Did it involve medical advice? No. Would participants be compensated? Annie nodded. Could she leave materials in the waiting area? The manager said yes, but only on the community board. Annie pinned up fifteen flyers before she left. By the time she got home, her phone had two voicemails. Both women sounded curious. One asked if the measurements would hurt. The other wanted to know if Annie was collecting the data for a university. Annie texted back carefully worded responses and scheduled them both for the following week. She had her subjects. Now she just needed to prove the numbers meant something.