To Whom It May Concern...

Dear Mr./Ms. Stretch Marks:

I am writing you to express my concern with your recent invasion of my privacy. Upon your recommendation, I worked my tail off for 8.5 months, slathering and shellacking, to prevent you from moving into the neighborhood. And then, out of the blue, there you were. One tiny, silver line. Honestly, I am so greasy that I'm surprised that you didn't slide right off my belly when you attempted to make your move. But then, you really started to overstay your welcome. Like ants marching, you began inviting friends to join, seemingly by the dozen everyday. And they weren't tiny and silver like you. They were angry. Angry and red. Every morning during my 34th week was like waking up from a nightmare. Day by day, more and more of your nasty friends were making a permanent home below my belly button. My belly was looking less like the Hornets Nest and more like a roadmap of Central Florida. Don't you know that I'm only 28 years old? I still have many, many years of sunning at the pool with my cute husband (and adorable twins) and would like to do so without the assistance of having to wear a one-piece.

I would like for you and Mr. Water Weight to get together and discuss how we can proceed with the last few weeks of this pregnancy without turning my body into a train wreck. The hormones and other physical changes of pregnancy are tough enough without this added pressure. And if you're feeling extra generous, if you could please deflate my hands and feet so that they no longer look like 20 lbs of potatoes stuffed into a 10 lb bag, that would also be appreciated.

Yours truly,
Jessi Horne