To my insurance company that won’t approve my allergy meds:
There is ONE allergy medicine this pregnant girl is allowed to take. ONE. And it’s not even that great of one. But it’s SOMETHING. And you won’t approve it. And it could take two weeks to get that fixed. TWO WEEKS. You realize that’s the equivalent to 82 pregnancy years.
Things that take less than two weeks: (1) A mission to outer space; (2) A cruise across the Atlantic; (3) Me finishing off a tub of ice cream because I’m frustrated with my insurance company.
To all of my single and newly engaged friends:
When you get married and it comes time to choose a bed, there is only one choice. The KING. Don’t try to be all romantic (and stupid) like us and buy the queen thinking it will help keep you closer together and give you more opportunities to snuggle. Sure, it’s wonderful most of the time, but then boom you’re pregnant and there’s just not room for you, your baby belly, your body pillow, the pillow wedged behind your back, AND your husband. One of you has to go, and the husband doesn’t like it if you choose the body pillow over him. (I love you, Mr. Right.)
To the owners of Sonic:
You are my very best friends right now. You and your cherry limeades and strawberry milkshakes and so many caffeine-free drink options. Bless you.
To the owners of Chick-fil-a:
I love you too. And your fresh-squeezed lemonade.
To the little girl in the elevator today:
Thank you for giving me a flower for no reason at all. You and your 6-year-old cuteness and your generous spirit made my day.
To the woman who is giving me a prenatal massage this week:
I think I love you more than Sonic.
To my cute husband who puts up with my extreme sniffling and my body pillow, and who takes me on impromptu Sonic runs and buys me cute new workout shorts when I outgrow mine (and his) and who is just so darn fun to be around:
You’re my favorite.