Today I got a prenatal massage.
You know what is awkward? Getting a prenatal massage when you are 23 weeks pregnant from a woman who is 32 weeks pregnant...with twins.
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It felt so great. But as always, my mind started to wonder...
Does she think I'm a bitch because I'm making her rub my back even though she is two months more pregnant than me, with twice as many babies?
I wonder where in Wilmington has the best Cookies n' Cream ice cream.
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I wonder if she noticed that I only shaved 3/4 of my legs before I came here.
Why is it that when you are pregnant you fart by accident all the time, but go poop on purpose basically never?
I wonder if that hard candy I saw at the front desk is any good? I need to pick some up on the way out.
Why can't hours between your kid's nap and your husband's arrival from work pass as fast as hours spent getting a massage? That would probably save moms so much money on wine.
Wine. I miss wine. And by wine I mean bourbon.
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I wonder if anyone will ever be as excited to see me as I am to see my husband come home each day.
If my husband could just take a day off of work each week to give me a massage and play with our child while I sleep I would promise never to get mad about him using my soap.
But mostly I was thinking about how not hype the recording sessions are when they make wind chime soundtracks they play during massages and yoga.
I want more rubs.