DNR - JTI: 17 Weeks Pregnant Edition

As always, credit for Do Not Respond - Just Take It goes to the brilliant and beautiful Mollie Erickson, whose blog can be found here

Dear Body, 
Hi. I'm sure you're like, "WHAT'S GOING ON MARY CATHERINE?!?!" Except really, you're not. You seem to know exactly what to do. You're gaining weight, you're growing a human being. But also, you are losing your balance and your mind and other weird stuff. I think my belly popped this morning but I can't be sure. How does one test these things? Anyway, keep up the good work and also what are you doing to me and also I'm sorry.  Do Not Respond - Just Take It. 

Dear Snoogle, 
You are a gift from the Lord. I never knew that a pregnancy body pillow could mean so much to me in such a short amount of time. We've become inseparably bonded to the point that Jordan is now jealous. Of me, to be clear - he wants his own Snoogle. Who can blame him? I work you into every conversation. See you tonight. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Friend from College, 
Sorry your wedding gift is so late.  I accidentally sent it to myself because I can't functionally think anymore. This is evidently a "thing," so I'm going to blame it on this sweet little parasite sucking the logic outta me. You'll get it, I promise. Or, if I get lazy enough, I may just keep it. I mean, it's a Le Creuset serving piece, it's pretty nice. I kinda want one. Stay tuned. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Jordan, 
God bless you. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Entire Bag of Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Chips, 
Bye! DNR - JTI. 

Dear Leg Hair, 
You and I have been locked in a battle of good and evil since I was about 12 years old. (To be clear, I'm good and you're evil and if you have a problem with that you can get your own blog). Prenatal vitamins, while helping my growing baby, also seem to have taken your side and joined the effort to ruin my life. But I won't be defeated. I will get rid of you every day until I can't see my legs anymore. STOP GROWING SO FAST OR ELSE. You've been warned. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Woman Working at Subway,
When I went in for a pizza, you looked at my belly, looked back up at me, looked at my belly again, and then asked if I was pregnant. "Yes," I said, "But that was a risky question." You said, "I was just trying to figure out if it was a boy or a girl." "Well?" I wondered. "A girl," you said, "because you're carrying low." 

FIRST OF ALL, WWaS, carrying low is not a compliment. It means you maybe didn't have a strong core before you got pregnant (or so I've read). I'm a fitness instructor, so I sure I hope I did. SECONDLY, you've got it backwards. Carrying low means you're having a boy, which is what I think I'm having, which makes you not only a bit impolite, but also wrong. You were the first person to acknowledge I looked pregnant and I am simultaneously offended by you and excited. I have a lot of feelings that don't make sense, okay? Please just make my veggie pizza and lemme get outta here before I buy that entire freaking case of cookies. 

Dear The Baby,
Please feel free to kick at me anytime. I really loved that. It was like you were saying, "HEY UP THERE! I'M IN HERE!" And it was magical and the best ever. You've gone radio silent for a few days, which I respect, because you're not trying to be an attention hog. You're makin' me wait. I like your style, but I also miss you, so...you know. Maybe just give me one whenever you feel like it. Love you. DNR - JTI.