An open letter directed at my uterus. (Is this an all time low for me?)

Dear Monthly Confirmation That I Am Indeed Without Child,

I know I blather on and whine endlessly every month upon your arrival whilst popping Midol and sending Schmooblebuns text messages that say things like, "MY BACK HURRRRRTS WAAAAAAH." but I am eagerly awaiting your arrival this go around because, seriously, I don't know how much longer my body can withstand eating meals of Pork and Beans + corned beef hash and tortilla chips + a tortilla wrap with strawberry cream cheese and turkey + fruit snacks and mini Reese's peanut butter cups before it self-implodes in protest. Also, my chesticles hurt.

Love,

Ys