Not That Girl

I want some of what this girl smokes.

I'm sorry, you crunched on what now?

Can't you guys just see me downstairs in my bedroom with candles and celery, rocking myself through contractions?

And don't forget, she managed to bake bread and cheesecake earlier. (Listen to me lady: you. have. the. muchies!)

The only thing my 'body is meant to do' is eat a green Del Taco burrito every day. My car broke down at the drive-thru window last week. I held my burrito's 'soft, meaty body' in one hand and my cell in the other as I told the AAA associate on the phone, "yes, a tow truck to the Del Taco on Sunset. Uh huh. Thank you."

My burrito was perfection. I felt amazing, and blessed with every expansion of my belly.

Don't you see? I'll never be that girl. I'm the girl that picks up a dozen donuts on the way to the epidural. I'm the girl that begs the nurse for a pile of Lortabs served in a bowl, covered in milk, and shoveled in by the spoon full. I'm the girl who is at the drive-thru window so often, odds necessitate I eventually break down there.