Ever since I got pregnant, the baby has dictated my every move: “Eat this! DON’T eat that. There’s no way I’m going to fit into those pants. Time to sleep. Time to pee. Time to sleep again. That last meal you ate? I’m sending it back.”
So this is my public service announcement. I know I was rude as I dashed into the bathroom and when I ate all the mini Butterfingers that someone left in the break room (sorry, coworkers). If I didn’t call you back because I was too busy sleeping 12 hours a day or perhaps I stole your favorite sweatpants when my jeans wouldn’t button anymore (my apologies, little sister). And for the time I burst into tears because the guy at In N Out looked at me funny when I ordered four slices of cheese on my french fries (you have the patience of a saint, husband). Sorry. It’s not my fault.
The baby made me do it.