Dear Universe,

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Stop toying with me.

Over the course of 10 minutes, on a walk to and from the drug store while in search of allergy medication to soothe the excruciating pain in my throat (which I ultimately decided deserved nothing but the best: three Advil washed down with some boxed wine), I counted no fewer than 10 pregnant women.

Pregnant lady with a toddler in the pharmacy line.  Pregnant lady in a burka.  Pregnant lady going for a stroll with her husband.  Pregnant Asian lady pushing a stroller containing yet another baby.  Dad carrying a car seat.  Okay, he wasn't a pregnant lady.  Pregnant chick who looked amazing in ridiculously tight workout clothes that I wouldn't wear on my most confident of non-pregnant days.  Seriously, I briefly considered asking her out on a date.  

Is there a pregnancy convention in town?  Do they have those?  Or maybe this is just the residual effect of Snowmageddon circa Winter '09-'10.

Universe, I will have a baby when I'm good and ready.  And richer.  Also, first I have to emotionally come to terms with this whole episiotomy thing.

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