Dear glutes, I know I’ve neglected you during the last few months, and that’s why you’ve lost your perky shape. I foresee many deadlifts and squats in your future, and I don’t want any complaining.
Dear husband, I know you’re so excited to ride your new motorcycle, but please watch out for all the crazy drivers, as I’d like you to father more children one day.
Dear California, it would be awesome if you would relinquish your grasp on the Morgan Family and let them move to Georgia. I think Mama Morgan and I could be great friends.
Dear James Michael, I would really appreciate it if you’d stop this pattern of dirty diaper blowouts in the middle of the night. 4 a.m. baths are not your friend, even though you are all smiles and think it’s play time.
Dear coffee, some days I put too much pressure on our friendship and then you fail to deliver. It’s not you; it’s me. I promise to ease off a bit, just promise you won’t leave me.
Dear Hilton Head, I am counting down the weeks until I can frollick on your beaches. Contrary to what people might believe, those three months of maternity leave were a lot of work. I need a real vacation.
Dear blog, between my one hour of free time on weeknights and a couple hours on the weekend, I’m finding time to finally pay you some attention. I told the hubby that on weeknights I have time to either blog or cook dinner, and his face dropped. He knows how much I like you, and I know how much he likes to eat. So I struck a deal and told him I’d alternate my focus each night. I convinced myself I’d cook enough dinner to eat as leftovers for the following night. Who am I kidding?
Dear Game of Thrones book, I like you, I really do, but 807 pages is a lot of book for a sleep-deprived mama to read. I’m determined to finish you, but don’t count on me reading book No. 2.
Dear mosquito that attacked these chubby baby legs 10 times, this means war.