AMBER 1: Do you realize that a week from tomorrow, I’m going to have a real, live baby?
AMBER 2: I know. Isn’t it awesome?
AMBER 1: NO! I can’t be a mom! This can’t happen!
AMBER 2: Hate to break it to ya, babe, but it’s happening. Unless you want to be pregnant for the rest of your life.
AMBER 1: But I don’t know how to be a mom! Shouldn’t you have to take a class or some sort of test or something before they let you bring a baby home?
AMBER 2: There was a class. You didn’t want to go. You went to Target and bought hair dye instead.
AMBER 1: See? I’m going to be a horrible mom.
AMBER 2: You’ll be fine.
AMBER 1: But I don’t even really like babies. All they do is cry, and poop, and cry some more—they can’t even tell you why they’re crying!
AMBER 2: It’s different when it’s your own baby. You know you already love her.
AMBER 1: But what if I poke a hole through her soft spot when I’m washing her hair?
AMBER 2: You won’t.
AMBER 1: What if I forget to support her head when I pick her up and her neck breaks?
AMBER 2: Don’t worry, they’re not that fragile.
AMBER 1: Well, what if I put her car seat on the roof and forget about her till I’m driving 55 on the highway?
AMBER 2: One, you never drive on the highway. Two, the cops would stop you before you got that far. Three, you’re not going to forget about your baby.
AMBER 1: How do you know? I get pretty spacey when I don’t get enough sleep.
AMBER 2: True. Well, just don’t leave the house when you get that tired.
AMBER 1: So you’re admitting that I’m going to be a horrible mom?
AMBER 2: Huh? I never…Hey, let’s go fold all the cute little onesies in her drawer again.
AMBER 1: Okay. At least I learned how to fold properly when I worked in that children’s clothing store.
AMBER 2: No you didn’t. You still stink at it.
AMBER 1: You’re right.