Dear H.W.,
I got a pretty decent night of sleep, despite spending an hour between midnight and 1 a.m. trying to decide if I was having "real" contractions, taking another shower (because I am weirdly paranoid that you will come when I have not showered recently), and bothering my doula over the phone. I think you dropped a bit, so I'm pretty much OK with you coming now and at least starting me on the path towards being more comfortable .... someday ... eventually.
Plus it would be super swell if you were born during the day, and not overnight. I have plans over night time. Those plans are: sleeping.
Dear David,
Please stop jumping on my stomach. I mean really, bro. It is not a trampoline.
Dear Weather,
Rain? Really? Because drying off the dog is exactly what I want to do right now.
Dear "Alias,"
I still love you.
Dear Army,
If you kick my husband out of that stupid school after all of this, I'm gonna come down there and kill you.
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For a moment I thought this letter was addressed to me, being H.W. and all.
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