Please stop breaking out. I know with my hormones out of whack, you think it's acceptable to make me feel like I'm 12, but it's not!
Please be a good little baby when I babysit you tomorrow. I won't even ask you to smile or laugh at me, just please play with me! Please help me to not feel more freaked out than I already am to have this baby.
Do I always have to fold you? 'Cause I don't...
Can you get your oil changed on your own? It's just such a hassle!
Please pay yourself, and not with my money. Find other funds!
Dear Fire Academy,
Please treat my husband well, he's just so cute! Don't kick his butt too badly, ok?
Just go away! I'm sick of burping up acid (TMI, I know), and chewing chalk (aka Tums) everyday.
Dear maternity garment bottoms,
You are ugly. And uncomfortable. I can only wear you folded down, but I prefer not to wear you at all.
Dear 6 a.m. mornings (Mon, Wed & Fri),
I actually don't mind you when I get up with Tadd to pack his lunch, and make sure he eats breakfast before he goes to school. But I think I only don't mind you because I'm with my cute husband, AND because I get to go back to sleep after.
I heart you sooo much. Thank you for entertaining me every night.