Dear Penny:  You are so funny with how obsessed you were with that bassinet while KC and I were putting together Baby’s dresser.  (We kept joking that she must be thinking, “Where is the baby???”)

Dear Everybody:  Yes, Penny got into that bassinet by herself, but you can calm down because we’re A. not using it for the baby (it’s a well-loved hand-me-down, but the locking mechanism is broken and one of the wheels won’t stay on) and B. we’re getting a mini crib instead which Penny won’t be able to hop into (the sides are much higher).

Dear Round Ligaments:  So uncomfy.  All.  The.  Time.

Dear Christmas Pajama Pants:  Looking sexy as ever up there.

Dear KC:  Are you pumped for your weekend alone as a bachelor since I’m in New York?  Try not to get too rowdy at Hoodslam.

Dear New York:  Whenever I visit you I always think, “I could live here!”  I do think I’d be super whiney about the weather though, given that I’m a California baby (pun intended).

Dear Coffee Drinks:  I will have all the decaf.  All of it.  (Remember how disgusting you were during the first 18 weeks of pregnancy?  So weird.)

Dear Ed Sheeran:  That song you sing where you say, “Darlin’ I will be loving you ’til we’re 70…”  All I can think after that line is, “And not a godda** minute more.”  You’re aware that people are living way beyond 70 these days, right?  Maybe you just decided like, “Yeah, that’s probably long enough.”

Dear Clothes:  Uggghhhh everything is getting smaller all the time.

Dear Feet:  Sorry about all the weight you have to deal with.  You should really be bigger to take all this on.  Stupid size five-and-a-half.

Love, Chelsea