Welcome to my uterus

So a popular question, now that Sydney is nearing the four-years-without-a-murder age, seems to be "Are you going to have another one?" It's extremely difficult to resist remarking that there can really only be ONE Satan.

As much as I love these two children, I feel like they successfully utilize all of my patience and physical ability to withstand "sturbis" tickling while I'm trying to issue serious parental edicts.  I've been advised to take all sorts of precautions, but unfortunately for me (and everyone who comes into contact with me on a regular basis), any hormone-related methods turn me into a velociraptor.

So here I am with ONLY TWO KIDS, and an unsuppressible urge to over-share.  I know that no one ever wants to hear about how horrible it is to have a uterus...so allow me to TIE YOU TO A CHAIR AND EXPLAIN.

Sometimes it makes you:

• Feel that, despite physical evidence to the contrary, you weigh 400-ish lbs.
• Feel like you cannot possibly cram enough calories into your body.
• Unintentionally cry on the phone, WITH YOUR BOSS.
• Feel that you could definitely beat the living tar out of Erin Andrews (and probably should, in order to save anyone with ears from listening to her speak).
• Entertain every sad thought you've ever had. (Remember those dogs you had that died?  HOW ABOUT YOUR GRANDMOTHER?)
• Yearn for pet ducks.  Or maybe guinea pigs.  Or a bunny.  BUNNEHS!
• Convince yourself that the weird cramping sensations that you've experienced approximately 246 times in your life probably mean that you're experiencing an ectopic pregnancy...oh GOD.
• Feel sorry for Solange Knowles because her big sister convinced the world that she actually grew a baby in her own uterus.
• Feel sorry for yourself for being a conspiracy theorist.
• Mentally calculate how much money you've spent on heating pads, tampons, Advil, replacement underwear, Gatorade and pregnancy tests.  Probably millions.