Thank you for the secret note you left me at the inferility clinic! It was a bright spot to my otherwise grim visit to Magnolia Park. Dr. W said, “Well, your ultrasound was…um…quite dramatic.” The cysts on my ovaries are apparently tennis ball sized and have cousins that are happily hanging onto my fallopian tubes like nasty little monkeys. The entire family of them are filled with gooey poison which seeps into my gut. And the good news? He thinks taking the cysts out could actually COMPROMISE the fertility of my eggs. Seriously, can I not have ONE element that works correctly?

I left a quick note to you (under many watchful eyes). And at the checkout I saw a flyer for a new mom party. Braggarts! I can’t wait to put our V-list party flyer right next to it and assure women that at OUR party there will be no stinky diapers or swapping of ultrasound images. (unless they are ultrasounds of cysts or follicles.)

I keep trying to take a deep breath and see this all as a lesson in patience. I should know by now that in this world the game changes daily, so the Bad News Bears have to roll with the punches. One of these days I will learn how to do that. I’m pretty sure the key lies in riding a mechanical bull, drinking gin from a flask or eating one of the cupcakes you made. I’ll start with that one…

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