I'm so happy for you. So much. But, there's a part of me that's a teeny tiny bit jealous. I know, that's awful. I mean, just that you get to meet your baby now (or soon) and I want to see my babe's sweet face, too. But then a part of me doesn't want it to be my turn just yet...there's still things I have to do, still memories with just my one kid I need to make. But until it's my turn I will just bask in all your sweet newborn photos and enjoy my heartburn, rib-kicks, and inability to bend over. I know, hot.
~A billion weeks pregnant, me.
Dear Dr. Pepper (
or lack there-of),
You were not worth crying over last night. I blame the hormones. No, really.
~But you would have tasted so good
Dear Eye Teeth From Hell,
For. the. love. Leave my child alone. The endless fevers. The crankiness. The not sleeping well at night. The "owww momma I hurwwt"'s that feel like a sucker punch to my mom heart. I'd like my happy kiddo back, pleaseandthanks.
Nasty devil teeth-you.
~The momma bear in me
Dear Baby Belly,
You grew overnight, like whoa. Suddenly nothing fits in my closet and I'm at the point where I feel like going naked should be totally and completely acceptable. Except I doubt that's the case. So until then I'll just look like a sausage in everything. Thanks for that.
~But "it's worth it".
Dear Bethenny Frankel,
I was a big fan. I am still trying to be. I loved your shows. Always have. But your new talkshow? Is making me question everything. Maybe I can only handle you in one-hour-a-week doses. Also, I'm already kind of over your dance moves (lack thereof) during your opening song (and omg I want to gouge my eyeballs out if I hear that song one.more.time).
~Am I the only one who feels this way? Also, questioning everything.
When you plan to make spaghetti next time, you should probably be prepared and have bought sauce. Rather then, you know, cooking half the meal, realizing it, and then having to send your just-got-home-from-work husband out to go buy some.
~As un-domestic as they come.