I am doing this for you, annacyclopedia...
How ya' doing? It's been a while since I've spoken with you. As hard as it is to say, I wanted to tell you I'm sorry.
I'm sorry about all those months I cursed you because you had me convinced that it was going to be *the* month. All that perfectly timed, welcoming cervical mucus, leading me to believe all I needed to do was have sex. I just assumed that with all the talking you do to A_'s body, you would have mentioned that he wasn't a good at sharing.
I'm sorry about feeding you crappy food. I know that cake and pasta and diet coke aren't very good for you, but I just get so sad sometimes. I need you to be full, and so I eat and eat until you are bursting. And still I am hungry. I just didn't realize that food won't satisfy that kind of hunger.
I'm sorry about not getting enough exercise. We were doing so well for a while there, and it is totally my fault that it all stopped. It's just that my bed is so darn comfortable. It's so easy to curl up in the cocoon of blankets and sleep through reality. Plus, it's been cold out. Not my fault, that.
I'm also sorry for not moisturizing enough, for picking at your scabs, for all those paper cuts. I'm sorry for stubbing your toe. I'm sorry for not getting more massages. I'm sorry for last St. Patrick's Day, though you have to admit it was fun until about 7pm. I'll go easier on you this year, but if you could just let the liver know to be prepared, that would be great. I mean, I still have to celebrate a *little* bit.
Look, I know I haven't been the best. But if you maybe work with me a little, I promise that eventually I'll get you what you keep asking for. You physically ache when I think about having a child. I can feel you swelling, wanting so badly to carry another life, to nurture. I want the same thing, it's just going to take a little while.
Hang in there, we'll talk again soon.