Pregnant people are stalking me.

It’s like they can smell that I am done reproducing, so they waddle up to me all glowy and adorable and rub their gestation in my face.

I just want a beautiful little baby growing in my belly again.

Andy told me to get a tape worm.

Andy’s an asshole.

Motherhood is a club.

Men can’t relate.

I wouldn’t let my dad in the delivery room, but I would show a complete stranger in Target my episiotomy scars if she was a mom…or if they had a camera and said they were doing a documentary on episiotomies.  I am pretty sure this is why there are all those pictures of Britney Spears’ vagina.  It was clearly all a big misunderstanding.

This is also why Andy won’t go into Target with me anymore.

That and because I stand in the aisles too long looking threateningly at people who I think are about to steal something.

They don’t know if I am fucking undercover or not, Andy, and you are totally blowing it!

So, yesterday I was in line behind a pregnant lady in Walmart.

She had on yoga pants and a tank top.  Which isn’t anything special because I wear that shit all the time.  It’s way easier to dig fallen bits of Oreo out of spandex than it is out of denim.

But she was was thin, and had things like carrots and water in her cart.

She apparently doesn’t wear yoga pants for the same reasons I do.

And then the cashier was all, here, let me lift that water for you, and she is like, no, I got it, I am still pumped up from pilates this morning.

And then I rolled my eyes.

Of course this very pregnant, skinny, naive lady goes to pilates and eats carrots.

Just as I am about to give her my wait until you pop out three kids and can’t hold your urine anymore look, she is like, Oh my God, I didn’t realize what time it was, I have to hurry and pick my four boys up from karate.

And then I punched her in the stomach.

The end.

P.S. This lady is not in my motherhood club.

P.P.S.  I didn’t really punch her in the stomach.

P.P.P.S. Seriously.  Do not send me hate mail about it.


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