Dear Editor,

Is anyone going to talk about the fact some of us were pregnant for 28 years? I mean, I realize there's not a lot that can be done about that now, but, because we didn't age, neither did our fetuses, so no one ever gave birth in this town until Emma Swan swooped in, and then – BOOM! – baby rush.

If I had no other reason to hate Regina Mills, I would hate her because she forced me to carry around an almost-to-term child for nearly three decades, and, because of the curse blocking us from realizing it was strange no one ever came to term, it never occurred to any of us that we soon-to-be mothers were in some physical danger.

If you don't understand what I mean, then let me point you to this little fact. A fetus is a little parasite, and I don't mean that in a negative way. I knew what I was getting into when my husband and I started trying to have a child back in the Enchanted Forest. I knew a woman's body suffered so the child would grow healthy and strong. I had seen other women with child. I had an idea.

Having been shoved into this world, I learned everything a fetus takes from its mother's body, and it's a lot. There are all kinds of vitamins, minerals, and such the baby needs that it gets however it can from the mother, which is why prenatal vitamins are so important.

Thank God we were supplied with those in this town because, had I not been taking them all this time, I'm fairly certain I would be a husk at this point.

Well, in fairness, that's likely not true. I realize the curse provided all sorts of measures to prevent us from dying because of "little" technicalities like pregnant women not being able to give birth, but that doesn't excuse the fact that WE WERE PREGNANT FOR 28 YEARS.

No, I'm not getting over that. Do you understand how hard it is to be pregnant? Can you not grasp the strain on your body and your mind? You have no idea how inconvenient life is until your baby discovers your bladder is a soft place to rest and decides to rest upon it every 10 or 15 minutes. You cannot know pain until your baby accidentally kicks your spine. You cannot understand torment until your child decides to start kicking you at 2AM for two weeks straight.

You don't know frustration until you can no longer bend over to put your own shoes on or can barely pull your underwear and/or pants up. You don't know irritation until you finally come to the conclusion that, if you really are having THAT much trouble with the fact your legs look like they belong to bigfoot, you're going to have to ask your husband to shave them. You don't know anger until you've had the hundredth random person decide that, somehow, it is perfectly fine to touch your belly because you're pregnant.

It's bad enough for the last trimester, but trying dealing with that for nearly three decades.

It's a small miracle I didn't kill someone. Thanks but no thanks; I'm not doing that again any time soon.

Shortly after I finally had my daughter, I told my husband that, if he ever got me pregnant again anytime soon, I was going to… let's just say that, if I told you exactly what I'd do to him, this letter probably wouldn't get printed.

Don't get me wrong. I love my child more than words can describe. I'm so happy she's in our lives, and, each day I look at her, I thank the gods that I was blessed enough to be able to have a child. That doesn't mean I had to like being pregnant forever.

I don't suppose I have a specific point to this letter. I'm not calling people to action in order to make some civil or political wrong right. I'm not asking for us to step up and take responsibility for some action that needs to take place. I'm not pointing out how some of the other letters to the editor of this paper are being ridiculous. I think I just needed to vent because goodness knows I'd never be able to pin Regina Mills down long enough to rant at her for about three hours on the sh-t she put me through for 28 years.

I'm not saying I would be opposed should the opportunity arise. I did actually call into City Hall to ask for an appointment to discuss this with Mayor Mills about a week ago, but that personal assistant of hers said, and I'm not making this up, "With all due respect ma'am, I cannot think of a single way I could convince the Mayor to not find a way to maneuver out of a meeting with you based on what it is you'd like to talk to her about. I think I've seen snakes less slippery in their ability to sidestep situations than Mayor Mills when she doesn't want to be bothered with a topic of conversation, and I can assure you she doesn't want to be bothered. Now, I can and will set up a date and time for you to come in, but I would bet my last cup of coffee on her having a sudden emergency that keeps coming up whenever your appointment rolls around."

I'd be mad at her if I didn't know she was probably absolutely correct about what would happen, so I told her not to bother and hung up, but then I figured that Regina would probably read a letter in the paper, so here it is.

Regina, if you're reading this, then I want you to know that, although I'm happy I gave birth at a clean, germ free hospital as opposed to on my bed with a midwife inside my germ infested cottage in the middle of the Enchanted Forest, I still think you suck for forcing me to wait 28 years before that could happen.

What? You couldn't put a clause in that curse of yours to give a pregnant sister a break? What the hell? You can remember it's important for our technology to update from time to time or that we'll probably need a psychiatrist, but you can't let me stop having to pee every 15 minutes for 28 years straight?

What a load of crap!

That's all I'm saying. That was complete sh-t.

Finally not a waddling mess of hormones,

Stacy Canton

I think of Cinderella being preggers for 28 years and being the chick who washes people's laundry, and I marvel at the fact she didn't kill Regina with a rusty spoon after the curse broke.