Dear Universe: Part 3

Dear Universe,

Perhaps I was unclear in our previous conversations. Yes, I work in a small school. Yes, it is the kind of place where people are all up in your business and generally overshare. Yes, I am used to that.  But, you have to knock this shit off. Stop putting me in situations that might seriously jeopardize my sanity, or at least my job.

This morning:
Me: "Yes! Fresh coffee!" <happy dance>

Preggo in danger of sporking: "I really miss coffee. There are so many things I can't do while I'm pregnant. What I wouldn't give for a glass of wine! And sushi...don't get me started on how much I miss sushi..."

Me: "Oh, yeah." <secretly plugging my ears and singing "la la la la la">

Preggo: "I mean, everyone thinks it's so easy but being pregnant is hard!"

Me: <eyeing the door> "Gotta run!"
The End

Really!? I am getting dangerously close to putting her in her place. I have started to fantasize about how I would phrase it. Inspired by some of the comments on my previous letters, I have narrowed it down to something like this:

Me: "Preggo, I am not the person to whom you want to be saying things like that. I like you a lot, and we have  worked together for a long time, but I am telling you that you are being incredibly insensitive. You are extremely lucky to be carrying a healthy baby. Ask anyone who has ever had a miscarriage, dealt with infertility, or a complicated pregnancy how much they would want to switch places with you. If I had to puke my brains out every day for 9 months, I would gladly take that in exchange for a healthy baby. So you bitching about giving up your Dunkin? STFU."

Preggo: <stunned silence>

Me: Now, go apologize to everyone who has had to listen to your daily pregnancy rants. You have been spoken to about this by your boss several times (true story), and you didn't stop. Maybe now you will."

Preggo: "Yes, Her Royal Fabulousness. You are right. Now here is $1,000,000."

Ok, maybe that last bit was pushing it, but you get the idea.

Universe, if you don't start working with me, this will become war.

Spork in hand,
HRF

Dear Universe: The Sequel

Dear Universe,

Seriously? You've done it again.

In no way should I have been forced to spend 30 minutes with a preggo co-worker who is complaining about the 10 pounds she has gained. 10 pounds, in 5 months. Really? Starting out as a waif must have been really tough. What WILL you do?

Where did I put that weaponized spork I mentioned...

-HRF

Dear Universe...

Dear Universe,

Please do not seat me at a lunch table next to two pregnant co-workers who are discussing how much they hate being pregnant. Apparently the physical discomfort is just too much. I know they don't intend to be hurtful and they don't know about my inability to conceive. However, I also don't intend to stab them with a spork. I'm just saying, if you do that to me again Universe, I might become a danger to myself, or others.

Thank you,
HRF
(aka Member of a Growing Group of Women at Work Who are All Currently Undergoing Infertility Treatment and Don't Want to Hear It)