Wedding Woes

Michelle Duggar's Uterus's resignation letter

Dear Mrs. Duggar,

It’s me, your uterus. Excuse the formality but we need to have a serious talk. I hope you don’t mind my writing you directly but honestly it was the only way I could think of at this point to get your attention. I resign.

I’m tired. I’m so so so tired. I’m done. I simply don’t think I can do this again.


Seriously, have you seen me lately? Take a close look at your next ultrasound. I’m not smiling. If the damn picture wasn’t in shades of gray you’d see that I’ve completely lost my girlish pink hue. I look like a shrunken apple head. I’m old, Michelle,  way past uterus retirement age. I should be relaxing in Florida drinking some damn screwdrivers with Benefiber stirred in for regularity. I should be spending my days playing Mahjong and voting Republican. People should walk by, see me sitting on my porch and say, “Who’s that old cranky uterus?” and someone else should answer, “Oh, it used to belong to Michelle Duggar but  long since retired. Pretty much just sits around all day now, smoking.”

But instead I’m carrying baby number TWENTY. That’s a two followed by a ZERO. What gives? Besides me in about three more months?


I am the hardest working uterus in show business. I’m like the James Brown of uteri. I’ve talked to a lot of other uteruses and none have ever had to work this hard –some have had it pretty easy. I don’t like to name drop but I happen to be Facebook friends with Jennifer Aniston’s uterus. Oh to switch places with her for a day!

I would consider unionizing if I could find even one other uterus with my subpar working conditions. Even Octomom’s U got it over with in two pregnancies. Sure it got all kinds of stretched out but at least it has plenty of time for hobbies now. Unlike yours truly.

When we got to four babies I foolishly thought we were done. But then we soldiered on; seven, eight, nine. I thought you were crazy. Hell, everyone thought you were crazy. But that didn’t stop you.  At the rate we were going I thought you’d surely run out of J names but you still had a few up your sleeve. Sorry, Michelle, I think Jinger with a J is cheating. But that’s just me and apparently I’m only a uterus and have no say.  At thirteen babies I thought of quitting but I wasn’t going to let your ovaries show me up. So I kept going. I treated it like a Survivor challenge (even though I think that’s the weakest part of the show. I’d much prefer to just see people argue) hoping that once we popped that kid out I’d get a bowl of rice and we’d call it a day.

Well, I got played. Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twenty times…and I’m just a fool.

So for my health, and the emotional health of your other 19 children, consider this my nine months notice.



This discussion has been closed.
Choose Another Board
Search Boards