Memos from a Grouchy Pregnant Lady

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Dear Friendly Stranger Who Rubs My Belly Without Preamble:

Really?  Not even a ‘hello’ first?  If I was skinny would you walk up and rub my stomach?  I am not Buddha.  Rubbing my baby bump will not bring you good luck.  In fact, if you don’t step back I’m likely to slap you.

There’s your warning.

The Grouchy Pregnant Lady
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Dear Overly Helpful Pre-School Administrator:

Thanks for the reminder about Teacher Appreciation Week.  The itemized list of expensive items the teacher has requested, the ‘required’ school attire (how many little boys own ‘aqua-colored’ shirts?), the days on which we should provide each item, the requirements for handmade cards…yeah…I’ll say thank you in my own way.  And honestly, how many cans of unsalted cashews and truffles can one teacher eat?

The Grouchy Pregnant Lady

P.S.  The list of items you requested for the teacher’s classroom should be covered in the ridiculously high tuition I pay each month.
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Dear The Preschool Mom with the Fancy Gift Bags, Glossy Ribbon, and Gourmet Cashews:

Thanks for making the rest of us (namely me) look bad. I hate you.

The Grouchy Pregnant Lady
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Dear Stranger Who Looks at Me with Pity in Your Eyes:

Yes, I’m pregnant.  Very Pregnant.  Yes, I’m miserable.  Thanks for reminding me.  If you dare ask me how soon I’ll ‘pop’, I’m likely to puke on your shoes.  I have a very developed gag reflex.

Point your pity elsewhere.

The Grouchy Pregnant Lady
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Dear Neighbor Who Mows your Lawn at 7 a.m. on Saturday:

I get that the sun is up, but that does not give you the right to rev up your mower before my kids are awake.  And if you complain about my dog barking again, I’m going to let her poop on your precious  lawn and I won’t pick it. 

I’m going back to sleep now.

The Grouchy Pregnant Lady

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