Dear Bojangles/ Chick-fil-a/ Hardees/ Waffle House,
It is with a heavy heart that I write these words to you. It’s not your fault that you are located within such close proximity of my home that I have chosen to frequent your drive-thrus for breakfast nearly each and every day. It’s not your fault that the will power of a hungry pregnant chick is next to nothing. It’s not your fault that my chins have doubled in size and in number over the past few weeks. However, I’m going to go ahead and blame you for the sheer deliciousness of your food that makes me crave it despite that fact that it is packed with fat and grease in numbers that would surely make me cringe if I actually cared enough to look them up. I am afraid that I must bid you adieu. Yes, I know that I am “with child” and therefore will be gaining some weight between now and my due date, however, I am fairly certain that your hash-browns, delicious chicken and sausage gravy are the culprits for the dramatic increase in the numbers on the scale over the past few delicious weeks.
That’s not to say that we’ll never meet again. Especially you, Bojangles, because I am fairly sure that you employ some sort of addictive substance when creating your delicious Cajun seasoning blend that you generously sprinkle over those hot, crispy, delectable creations that you call seasoned french fries. However, for now, we’re really going to have to go our separate ways because at this rate, I will have no neck and 25 chins by the time March rolls around. Plus, all of that salty seasoning has worn the taste-buds off of my tongue, and I think I need some time to recover.
Hugs and Kisses (& I hate you so much),
-Jessica and baby boy #2
Here’s hoping that if I cut myself off now, this baby won’t come out resembling a fried potato. For old times sake, though, just look at this:
Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to enjoy yogurt and granola nearly as much as these.