Middle-of-the-Night Letters

Dear Recliner,

I have a love/hate relationship with you.  I love that you came to us, free of charge, from a sweet family in the ward when I had an IV (and then a PICC line).  You made sleeping possible for several weeks.  You brought a change of scenery when I was bed-ridden.  You have been a blessing, too, during this wicked third trimester.  I can rest my head and prop up my feet and watch TV, all at the same time.  You are reasonably comfortable (my short stature does not properly align my neck with your upper contours) and are often a cure for insomnia and heartburn.

However, your color, shape, and style are extremely ugly.  Our small living room really doesn't have space to accommodate your hugeness.  My children use your foot rest as a weapon against each other and bang your back into the wall.  Your worn spots are sticky, and when I sit in you (and want to rest my head), I can't wear a ponytail.  Pfft.

Love (hate) you anyway,

The pregnant lady

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Dear Colorado weather,

People have been complaining about your fickle nature lately, i.e. the thunderstorms that follow the afternoon heat.  For the record (and I hope you are listening), I absolutely adore the almost-daily rain showers that cool off this crazy place.  The cooler evenings/mornings are saving my sanity (and my fat, fat feet).  Keep 'em comin'.

A grateful citizen

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Dear Random Citizen,

I promise we are working on a name for you.  You will eventually learn (if you don't already know) that each of your parents is very passionate and stubborn.  We each have a treasured, favorite name that is close to our hearts, and neither of us wants to give it up.  Your name will most likely be a product of negotiation, but let it be a lasting reminder that if marriage has taught us one thing, it is the art of compromise.  I hope you like it.

Much love,

Your adoring parents

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Dear Sonic,

I wish you delivered in the middle of the night.  I have a serious craving for tots.  And a grape cream slush.  And peanut M&Ms.

A faithful customer

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Dear Carpet Guy,

Thanks for coming out to look at the stains in my beautiful new(ish) carpet.  The babysitter didn't mean to spill red nail polish on my bedroom floor, and she also didn't know that nail polish remover is a bad way to remove nail polish from carpet.  She is properly repentant, and I am encouraged that you think the stain might be, too.

Ditto for the black paint spill in Zach's bedroom.  What possessed him to paint his cub scout totem pole in his closet, I will never know.  But it won't happen again.

See you Tuesday.  May your chemicals work so we can avoid a "surgical repair."

Your client

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Dear parents who give their own children music lessons,

I am afraid that I lack the discipline to do this.  I need tips.  Or maybe a babysitter.  Help!

A bad, bad teacher

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Dear Pediatric PA,

I love you.  I really do.  But today, when you told me Lexi's rapidly-spreading rash was flat warts, I kind of freaked out.  I imagined that within a week she'd look like the Elephant Man.  But guess what?  The dermatologist said her bumps are the result of an allergic reaction and can be managed with Benadryl and hydrocortisone cream.  You were wrong, and I am so, so glad.

But I'll see you next time we need a same-day appointment.

Lexi's mom

P.S.  Thanks for being patient with Bartle, party of 5.8 today, and for not making comments about my size or large posterity.

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Dear Alexis,

It is 2:24 a.m. and you are up for the fourth time tonight.  What gives?  I thought the Benadryl we gave you at dinner for your crazy skin would knock you out for a solid 10 hours.  Go to sleep!

Your tired mama

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Dear Dish Network,

I guess we're through!  We are embarking on the new world of streaming television via whiz-bang Blu-Ray players.  In three months, thanks to the money we'll save by not paying for Dish services, we will have re-couped the cost of the players and enjoy much cheaper screen time.

But I will really miss BYU TV.

The wife of a technology fanatic

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Dear Universe (because I'm not really sure who to address this one to),

How is it that I have four friends with children getting married this month?  Am I old enough to have arrived at that station in life where my refrigerator is decorated with wedding announcements?  As I was writing out congratulatory notes this evening, I had distinct memories of opening my own wedding cards and gifts.  More times than not, I was surprised that I didn't know the giver.  Then my mom (or Garry's mom) would say, "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so are our friends, dear."  I'm thinking three of the four kids on my fridge will have the same reaction.  But I love their parents dearly, so it's just fine.

Mrs. So-and-so

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Dear Baby Girl,

(How lucky are you to get two letters in one night?)

Thanks for the awesome kick-and-wiggle show during these wee hours.  As I have reclined in this ugly chair (next to the open window, with my feet up, trying to deal with heartburn/insomnia at two in the morning) and balanced the laptop between my belly and the arm rest, you have been bouncing all over the place.  I love it!  Your kicks have been strong enough to jolt the computer and cause typos and much laughter.

It  is wonderfully reassuring to know you're doing so well in there.  I hope your lungs are maturing and your body is fattening up (need some more ice cream?) for life in the outside world.  If you haven't noticed, your current home is trying to squeeze you out on a regular basis.  I want you to be as healthy as possible, of course, but certainly wouldn't mind if you arrived ahead of schedule.  Any hints on when that might be would be vastly appreciated, because lining up care for all of your siblings during labor and delivery is a constant cause of concern.  Between end-of-summer vacations and the start of school, it's a pretty crazy time of year to have a baby.

How about a weekend?

Much love,

Your mama