The final dose.

Dear Progesterone,

We’re done.

I never expected us to get together in the first place, to be honest.  We came from different worlds, I knew you had a bad reputation, I just wasn’t that interested.

But then I found myself feeling low, and you appeared.  You got under my skin and promised that you would take care of me. I couldn’t resist: we fit together so easily.  Before I knew it, you were inside of me.  And then we were seeing each other every day.  Twice a day, actually.  Oh, I broke it off once or twice.  Went two weeks without you, even, but I always came back to you.

Our relationship got comfortable, you kept your promises, you made me feel safe.  But there was the other side, too.  You always wanted to see me, I had to take you everywhere, I always had to clean up your messes.

Maybe this doesn’t seem fair.  I know that you’ve done most of the work in this relationship.  I’ve ignored your issues for a long time, and you’ve taken care of mine.  But I’m not sure that I need you anymore.  I think I can make it on my own.

Oh, come on, don’t get all mushy on me.  You’ll be fine.  We’ll both be fine.  I’m moving on.  And as for you?  Well, you know where you can shove it.

Love,

A

The final shot.

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5 thoughts on “The final dose.

  1. Yahoo! R just took her last dose on Tuesday night, and celebrated Wednesday by … vomiting. Pregnancy is not for the faint of heart, is it?

  2. Ha! That’s great! I’ve just been given the okay to stop too. I was hoping I might feel less sick when I stopped, but so far it hasn’t made any difference.

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