Dear Baby:  We’re working on getting your room all ready, and even though that dresser is from IKEA and took us 2 hours to put together, seeing your little space looking more and more like a nursery makes all of this totally worth it.  And what about how your daddy agreed to paint a shelf for you because your pregnant mama can’t?  He’s the best (you’ll find out soon enough!)

Dear New York:  I’m coming to see you next week.  Let’s not do the temps in the teens or single-digits since I can’t zip up any of my coats over this big belly, OK?  Thanks.

Dear Belly:  Everyday I can’t fathom how you can get any bigger, and yet… you do.  I guess it’s all for a good cause though, right?

Dear Jeans:  You and I are already having our issues these days, but trying to put you on after you’ve been washed and dried?  Low self-esteem city.

Dear Superbowl:  I already don’t care about football and I reeeaaaally couldn’t care less about either team playing this year.  It’s like a competition of which team is more annoying.  (Spoiler alert: you’re both winning!)

Dear Bed:  You are so deliciously comfortable, let’s never part.

Dear Rain:  Hiiiiiiii, what the hell?  I thought we had a deal?

Dear Baby Gap:  Maybe I went in to buy a gift for a friend but then couldn’t resist picking up this little ensemble for Baby D…  All the cuteness is going to be the death of me (and my finances).

Dear Self:  I know I’m always getting down on you about all the things you’re not doing or could be doing better, but this week you got recognized at work in front of the whole department and got a spot bonus to boot, so, way to go.  (And yayyyy because the credit card bill from Christmastime is awfullll.)

Dear Weekend:  You can’t get here fast enough, I’m ready to sleep in!  (Really meaning: get up to pee at least 4 times during the night, then be forced out of bed early because I’m starving and need to eat something, and then go back to bed and sleep in.  I’m tired just thinking about it.)

Love, Chelsea