I think I've discussed my overactive ovaries before. In fact, I'm positive I have. Like this time. Well, they've been bad again...really bad. There are too many darling toddlers waddling around the children's section of the library every day to do me any good. (Think five year-old Indian girl, big almond eyes, looking for books on the Tooth Fairy because she just lost two teeths. Yes, teeths.)
My gallivanting in the library aside, I have a bone to pick with you, my dear friends. Yes, you. You know who are.
There are at least six of you out there right now pregnant. Rude. Rude, I say! Do you not know how happy this makes me and how desperately it makes me want to procreate?!
You just can't keep producing darling surrogate nieces and nephews for me to love and coddle and expect me to stay sane. I love you all, and couldn't be more delighted with the additions to the family, but you're heartless. My ovaries just needed you to know that.