I should just buy a stack of cards that say "I'm sorry that I suck."

Dear Pregnant Lady at the Office,

I didn't mean to give you nasty looks.  It's not your fault that you're having every woman's dream pregnancy and are tall and skinny and cute with the perfect little baby bump and almost no side effects.  It's just that... You see, I still look 6 months pregnant from my firstborn's delivery 2 years ago (which of course is my own fault for not doing anything about it).  And I'm short (not my fault; I blame genetics for this one).  And my belly looks more like a big puffy marshmallow just attached itself to me (once again, I blame genetics).  And you're all perky and gorgeous and healthy and side-effect-less.  So, don't mind the nasty looks I give you.  I just hate and detest you with every fiber of my pregnant body, which is nauseated when I eat and nauseated when I don't eat often enough, which really boils down to me saying I'm nauseated all day long.

With love and severe jealousy and hatred,
Me.



Dear Lady on the Phone at the Doctor's Office,

I'm sorry if I may have sounded a little bit exasperated when I answered your questions.  You see, I thought when you asked, "And how may I help you today?" that you would actually listen to my answer, which was quite concise.  "Hi!  I'm pregnant, and I need to schedule an appointment with an OB/GYN."  I don't understand how that could be taken any other way than "I'm pregnant" and "need to schedule appointment with OB/GYN".  I'm fairly certain it is unnecessary to ask what I am being seen for (PREGNANCY!  It's PREGNANCY!) and which doctor I need to see for it (Seriously? You don't know what kind of doctor pregnant women need?  Especially when I already told you?).  Oops, I'm getting a little judgey again.  Please don't take my snarky and impatient tone personally.  I'm just bitchy when I'm pregnant.

With love,
Me.



Dear Person By My Car,

I'm sorry if I looked slightly insane as I sniffed after you.  Your food smelled delicious and I hadn't eaten yet today.  It was no time to be polite or even have basic manners.  I was not only starving, but starving my unborn child.  My nose sniffed after you of its own accord.  I apologize.  I've since beaten my nose into submission.

If it makes you feel any better, I managed to stop myself from tackling you to the ground and grabbing your boxes of take-out.

With sincere thanks for you not calling the cops,
Me.