Pass the Castor Oil Please...

I've reached that point.

Where I feel my body, although made to do this and has done it twice already, has somehow forgotten it's role in the birthing of a child. Which leads me to only one logical option.

I must take matters into my own hands.

So pass the Castor oil please, pass the pineapple, and a huge ol' slice of long, vigorous walks. Slide a slice of spicy food on my plate and all the intestinal cramps that will come. And please disregard my mean tempered disposition or the short irritable remarks I might say.

It's not you, really...

I'm just at war,

with my body.