...because I am close to killing someone.
It may be one of the dozens of people who approach me daily and ask the same 5 questions about my baby. Cause of death: In Wal-Mart, with a shopping cart.
It may be my husband, who does not seem to understand that I am a) hormonal and b) exhausted. I am not interested in having an argument over whether or not to have stuffing for dinner. In the study, beaten to death with the XBox he plays incessantly.
Could be my employees, who's brains seem to have fallen right out of their heads and they have forgotten how to do EVERYTHING. So of course, I have to do it, along with all of my crap, while I am a miserable 9 months pregnant. In my office, with a stapler.
Could be my OB, for telling me that I am 36 weeks, not dilated, not effaced, baby's head is high, and he is still posterior. Technically, not the OB's fault, but someone has to pay the price.
No one is safe...
*DISCLAIMER* This is a joke. I am just extremely irritable, and the next 4 weeks are going to be LOOOOONG!
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