Wednesday, December 31, 2008

One of Sam's Friendly Letters

Dear Uterus,

You're doing a great job thus far! You are keeping Egg cozy and warm and for that I am appreciative. I assume he is well-nourished as well as provided ample space for kicking and shoving. I know you take a lot of abuse from him, especially during his active times of the day and night.

Normally, I would call this a job well done and leave it at that. However, I have a small issue that I'd like to address with you. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement just between the two of us? How about this: I will try my hardest to avoid having a doctor cut into you in order to remove Egg from your grasp. You, in turn, will SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL I'M IN REAL, ACTIVE LABOR YOU STUPID WHORE. Because really, who wants to have contractions on and off ALL FUCKING DAY LONG, HUH? NOT FUCKING ME. I am over this shit. Either dilate my cervix all the way and let me push Egg out or chill the fuck out. Okay?

It's not that I don't like you. It's more like you are fucking annoying and it is hard to have a decent conversation with my husband when I am paying attention to the rock that my abdomen has briefly become. It's a little bit uncomfortable and I'm sure Egg is tired of having his poor nads squeezed half to death. Stop it. Also, I'm not ready to give birth yet. Tomorrow I am packing my bag and fixing my hair, but tonight? Not so much with the hair or even clean underwear (beyond the pair I am wearing). So fuck off. Give me a little more time to prepare for this shit.

Also? My baby shower is going to be on Saturday. And Chicken is flying into town on that day, too. I'd like to attend both events with my cooterus intact, thank you very much. No swollen labia, new baby, and bloody cooterus for this weekend. How about Monday? Monday is good for me.

Love,

Sam

Sidenote: TB says that currently my nipples remind him of Whoppers Malted Milk Balls but without the chocolate coating. I have no fucking clue what that means.

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