I'm glad you're pregnant, now shut up about it you hormonal cow.
Once you’re finished your morning reading you call your husband. Now I’m aware that you’ve only been married since October, so I think it’s good that you communicate so well, but do you really need to call him 17 times a day? I know it’s nosey and petty and pathetic, but I counted…it really was 17 times. It would have been more because he called while you were downstairs getting a bagel and I saw his number on the caller ID.
Last week you asked me if I thought you were having a girl or a boy. I told you a boy because I know you want a girl and I felt like pissing you off. You actually put stock in a random guess from a coworker? Wow, you pregnant women are impressionable. I thought you were going to cry or something. Those hormones are really screwing you over, huh? Maybe that explains why you’ve been 20 minutes late every day for the past few weeks.
Now I’m aware that you’re trying to watch your figure—and you do still have a decent figure, I admit—but if I have to hear you daydreaming out loud about deli meat one more time, I’m going to throw my Subway Value Meal at you. And really, it wasn’t necessary for you to show me your belly. It looks the same, and even if it didn’t, I’d tell you that it did unless your belly button was doing that nasty pop-out thing or you had obvious stretch marks.
I can’t wait until you start picking out names. Maybe I could help; I’ve been thinking of a few suggestions…