Dear Pregnant Self,

You think you're real cute, dontcha? Well, you are, and you should enjoy it. What other time in your life are you going to gain 25 very noticable pounds and have people telling you how beautiful you look every time they see you? I mean, soon, it's going to be "Don't worry, the rest will come off eventually" from people you don't even know, and then you are going to have to choke a bitch in the diaper aisle and possibly go to jail. Honestly. You're not going to ask the bitch how she thinks you look, cause you think you look good, but she'll tell you "not to worry" anyway. When the time comes, remember: She deserves choking.

Also, I know you have no pretty, glowing illusions about how a baby is going to bring you and your man closer together. From what I recall, you are sure that she will arrive, smash your world into pulp, then eat that pulp for breakfast, and you're not wrong there. She will. The pulp of your former life is her favorite taco topping. And you're not wrong about the other thing either. Right now, you're relationships is all, "Let's learn how to make Thai food!" and "I love making love to you." Well, soon, it's going to be "Please tell me. How do you screw up Hamburger Helper?" and "Um...sorry about that. I'll make it up to you, I promise." But don't despair. The relationship you have built will get you through this.

You will watch Primetime specials on how babies put monumental stress on marriages, then turn to each other, hi-five, and laugh maniacally, "Joke's on them! We're not even married! Suckers!" You will amuse yourselves, not with spontanious and romantic trips to New Hope, but with the ever-critical who-can-shove-the-most-grapes-in-their-mouth contest. (He can. I tapped out at 33 and he just kept packing them in. Unsettling.) True, there will be less Friday nights out at karioke or the movies. But there will be more Friday nights spent clinging to each other under the covers, hands lovingly clamped over each other's ears to block out the crying. You can't get that kind of intimacy anywhere else, I promise.

You don't remember what "alone time" means or what you would do with it if you had it (probably sleep), but you still go to the grocery store together and mock bad Soccer Mom haircuts and grandma-panty lines under velour sweat suits. You still love each other, and in some ways you didn't expect, you are a lot closer. It's going to be okay.

Love,
Future Self