I'm not even remotely kidding. Every time we start talking about having another baby, my uterus responds with something that could kind of be described as shards of glass trying to escape from inside my lower abdomen. It makes me stabby, to say the least. Now, Dear Uterus is not throwing the hissy fit from hell because we want to expand the brood, she's just throwing her weight around and being quite the asshole because she can. She's really probably still pissed off that she got sliced into when Captain Awesome was born. I've tried to explain it to her that I really didn't enjoy it either, but shit is always about HER. Whatever, Uterus. You just wait until I elect to have you vacated permanently. I thank you for bringing my son to full-term, and I'll thank you in advance for the child I hope we have sooner rather than later, but soon you'll be out of a job. Don't worry about unemployment. It's straight to retirement for you.
Sorry dudes, this was overly girly and probably gross, but eh, such is life.
I really could benefit from buying stock in Advil as much as I've consumed this weekend. And Yuengling, for that matter... Happy Three Day Weekend! A Monday with no alarm clock almost makes today better. :)