An Open Letter to C

Dear C,

As you fart around in my womb and kick my innards all to pieces, take a moment to reflect upon your upcoming birth. Yes, it is true that the naysayers out there pretend that babies should be born 40 weeks after the date of a mother's last menstrual period, but the naysayers are haters. Fat, lazy, slow, racist, dirty, stinky haters. You're better than they are. And faster.

Be born at 37 weeks.

Show your friends up. Let the world know who's boss. Come out in advance. Set trends. I know you can do it.

Actually, I wouldn't complain if you were out a few days ahead of 37 weeks.

It's been really great having you grow inside me. I've enjoyed the nausea, fatigue, unstoppable migraines, and other joys of pregnancy more than you'll ever know. And that thing you do with both feet, my bladder, and a copy of the Miranda rights in Spanish? Magical. However, my most fervent desire for you is that you not blindly follow the pack.

Say, 36 weeks.

This being said, I want you to be first and foremost a fat, healthy newborn, so don't rush out. Don't take this letter to mean that I want you to sacrifice your own health for my selfish comfort. I love you, and I can't wait to meet you.

I'm not doing anything December 2, if that works for you. Otherwise, the week before is pretty open. Just let me know.

Love,

Bad Momma Joo