Open letter to L

Daughter o’ mine,

I am really looking forward to your arrival in a couple months, but feel as though we already need to have our first talk. I love you more than words can express, but I already have a problem with you.

Please stop messing with my bladder. It is not a drum, punching bag, or bean bag. I don’t appreciate the continuous pressure you are putting on it nor do I appreciate the jabs and pokes, which you figured out how to do yesterday. I was just sitting in the car, minding my own business, and all of a sudden it felt like someone was squishing my bladder like one of those stress balls. I have things to do, a life to lead, and when I constantly feel as though I need to have a bathroom within 20 feet of me, that is not good.

As I consider my self relatively earth-conscious and hope to raise you the same way, I don’t feel as though we are getting off to a good start. The amount of water I am wasting having to use the restroom 50 times a day is not appreciated. Not to mention the amount of toilet paper used.

Thanks so much my little (haven’t figured out what I will call you yet).

L

P.S. And while I have your attention, my ribs should not be used as your xylophone.