I want to commend you for a job well done. For just about forty weeks now, you’ve nourished what is undoubtedly a beautiful baby boy. From all the pictures we’ve seen, he’s grown well and all the necessary bits are intact. You’ve done splendidly.
However, it’s time to let go.
You can’t have him forever. He’s going to keep growing and you can only stretch so far! It’s already getting pretty cramped in there, according to the rest of my abdomen. Bladder is especially insistent that her days as a trampoline come to an end soon.
It’s time to move into phase 2: expelling your precious cargo. Now, I know this requires more physical work than you’ve been doing. You’re going to have to use those muscles you’ve been working on for about 20 weeks now (yes, I’ve noticed your many, many sessions of Braxton Hicks, especially the ones when I was trying to sleep – your dedication has been commendable). You should have Olympic powerlifting levels of strength by now, so it really shouldn’t be too physically demanding for you to squeeze him out. I’ll even help (I’m sure you’ve noticed my own grueling workouts – all those lifting sessions were training for labor).
You held on too long with Colt, and remember how that turned out? I had to come at you with a Foley bulb and Pitocin. I really don’t want to have to do that again. Don’t make me use interventions! I know you have it in you to do it on your own.
I promise you, we will take good care of that sweet baby once he is out of you. He will be loved and cherished by everyone who is anxiously waiting to meet him – me, his daddy, his big brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles and of course anyone who is on social media. He will go straight from you to my chest, where I will hold him close and help him transition to this scary new world.
Are you holding on because this might be your last baby? Does it sadden you to think your Big Job in life might be done for good? I get it – I have similar feelings. But remember, there was a time we thought this baby might not happen. You never know what will happen in life!
So please, dear Uterus, let my baby go. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done so far, and we’ll work together to bring him earthside.
P.S. No need to worry about how well he’ll be nourished outside of you. The Boobs wanted me to tell you they’ve got this. Judging by the amount of wet spots on my shirts lately, I have to agree with them.