My uterus just signed a Letter of Intent to Ohio State!

I have a new mission in life.  I am going to build a time machine.  I am going to go back in time to February 23, 1823 and bitch slap Mrs. Edward Hicks as she is giving birth, and I am going to rename her baby John Miserable Torment.  That way, when someone says "Wow, you look tired!" I can say "Oh, it's the Miserable Torment I have every night for hours at a time!" Doesn't that seem so much more accurate and to the point than stupid Braxton Hicks contractions????

Because you know what?  It is miserable torment.  Being in labor every night, but no baby ever comes out?  Sounds awesome.  People (bless their hearts) keep telling me it's my uterus "practicing" for the big event.  If that's true, this baby better fly right out in under an hour, because my uterus is a freaking VIRTUOSO.  

Yes, I am smart enough to understand that my hatred of Mr. John Braxton Hicks is misplaced- if he didn't name them, someone else would have.  But still, doesn't he look just a little bit like someone you'd like to punch?



I mean seriously, I want to roundhouse this a-hole to the face.  But I digress.

If my uterus is going to waste so much time "practicing" for the "blessed event" all I want is some kind of credit.  I think I should get a varsity letter at some kind of awards dinner.  I want my uterus named Athlete of the Week.  I want to be courted by Division I coaches in such an inappropriate manner that their team is later banned from postseason play.  I want a freaking full ride to the university of my choice- and yes, I guarantee I can get my uterus past the Clearinghouse.  I want a Nike swoosh tattooed over my giant gut.  I want my uterus to marry a disproportionately hot young wife AND have several mistresses.   I could never seem to make the field hockey team in middle school, but god damnit, I WILL be the flag bearer at the Olympics.  Now I just have to decide if Miserable Torment is a summer or a winter sport...