Dear Michelle Duggar and That Tired Uterus,
Twenty? Seriously? You were “still counting” at eighteen and I thought that was insane. And now we’re hedging twenty, and “still counting?” Mercy Michelle. Mercy. Let’s stop counting already, if not for your sanity, then your uterus.
There’s a rumor swirling around that yours is a titanium uterus. Some kind of NASA-designed contraption with the tensile strength of airplane wings. But even so, 747′s with excessive flying hours are put to rest. Take heed, girlfriend.
In any event, I’m not here to judge, because as you say and darn well know, that’s for God to do. Though, while we’re on the subject, another thing you might want to ask Him to do: place a young uterus on backorder in the event that yours prolapses.
I know, I know I’m needling the issue, but my worry here is this: you have nineteen kids and if something goes really wrong in this pregnancy, (as it almost did on kid #19) the kids are without a mother and Jim Bob’s a one-man show.
And Michelle, you and I both know, even in Arkansas, a single man with twenty kids is going to need more than big white teeth to find a new mate with a fresh uterus to seed.
But actually neither your uterus nor Jim Bob are my most pressing concerns.
My real concerns are the following: