A love letter to my body. Kind of.

Dear My Body,

I would like to thank you for always supporting me through the many grueling trials I've put you through over the years.  High school athletics?  We rocked it.  Learning to run distance instead of sprint?  You totally didn't let me down.  I let you go a little through college, but you rebounded nicely.  Then, of course, you had the enormous job of housing a person, and you held up like a champ.  You even bounced back (although you'll never be shaped quite the same) and look pretty cute in those jeans again.

Yep, you're pretty awesome.

I know I've been a little unkind to you recently, what with the whole not getting pregnant thing.  But I feel like we're on pretty good terms these days.  I thought we'd gotten to a good place.

Which is why I'm a little confused.  Are you trying to punish me?  I mean, hasn't anyone ever told you that it's not nice to tease someone by dangling something they really, really want in front of them when you have no intention of delivering? 

It's been two days without that all important, you're-not-pregnant monthly reminder.  I'm starting to get my hopes up.  Just a little.  If you could please make sure that this time they're not crushed, I'd really appreciate it. 

In exchange, I promise I'll only eat icecream twice a week, and I'll try really hard not to stretch you to capacity this time around.  Kay?

Love,
Me.