Introvert

There are many, many words people may use to describe me.  I'm not going to list them.  But ask someone who knows me to describe me and make your own list.

Introvert?  Not even close to being on that list.  Not even the long list.  I enjoy going out with people.  I get excited about visiting places.  I enjoy meeting new friends.  I'm not "shy" and I'm definitely not "quiet."  Except for those times my MS is owning me.  Which it has been.

The scene is my BIL's apartment in Providence.  He shares it with his room mate, a gay man who is in love with a woman.  The apartment is perfectly decorated in a kitschy Art Deco- everything is there for a purpose.  Everything in the home has meaning.  The fire is roaring.  The bar area is lit in a romantic glow.  No actual overhead lights in the home except the kitchen, which is a flurry of activity as my BIL cooks his little heart out.  The music is about two decibels too loud, but over the laughing and the merriment, it's...still two decibels too loud.  The windows are open, because the fire is so intense for the tiny space that it becomes a distraction.  My son is taking this all in.  He's starving.  It's almost 8 and we haven't eaten.  I'm busy feeding him cashews from the bar because there's no kid food in sight.  He sits there like a little man, drinking juice from a tiny glass out of a tiny straw.  He doesn't mind any of this, of course.  It's all new and fun and loud.  To him, it's an adventure.

Room mate's love interest comes.  She doesn't just enter the room, she comes in and takes it over with her mere presence.  Everyone cheers her name.  I see her fancy shoes and immediately know she's out of my league.  She says things like "oh honey" and "be a doll and" and "aren't you scrumptious."  She's a Gusher.  My head is on fire.  She sits next to me.  Liam is done with supper.  He hasn't eaten anything.  He doesn't like it.  I'm starving and there's salad.  I ate four helpings of salad.

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What people don't know is that my day up until that point was a living nightmare.  My MS is flaring in ways it never has before.  I'm recovering from my grandmother's passing and crying.  Every.  Day.  The night before, Liam was up coughing all night so I slept sitting up with him in my arms.  The next morning my husband and his brother head off for the Comic Con and manage to wake Liam up at 8am with them.  He wakes up running and never stops.  It's 1:30 and we haven't eaten yet.  He's starving.  He throws FOUR TANTRUMS in public.  I spank him three separate times after MANY failed attempts at quieting him.  I buckle him in.  He unbuckles himself.  People most likely think I'm abducting him.  He stiffens himself out like a board.  Screaming.  My MIL intercedes by grabbing his arm.  I shoot her a look that she seems to understand.  Let.  Me.  Parent.  He doesn't want food.  He doesn't want anything.  He's exhausted.  I take him home for a nap.  He's not sleepy.  He jumps up and runs away.  I catch him.  He turns the light on.  I turn it off.  He turns it on.  I say no.  He says "I'm the boss."  I say no.  I grab him and hold him against his will while he's screaming and kicking me.  "You're MEAN!  MEAN MOMMY! LET ME GO!"  No.  You will sleep.  You need to take a deep breath.  He doesn't want to breathe.  HE wants to be angry.  I cuddle him up and rock him to sleep.  The car he's been clenching in his tight little fist all afternoon falls from his hands and he's out.  I sit there and watch him sleep.  He's beautiful.  He sleeps for 1.5 hours and I watch him.  He wakes up screaming.  Nightmare.  He doesn't know where he is.  Screaming.  No consolation.  Screaming.  Here!  Have the Kindle! Anything.  Please, calm down.  Time for a shower.  He doesn't want to take a bath.  He runs to the bathroom.  Screaming.  Screaming.  Screaming.  I know my inlaws can hear it all through the floor.  No bath.  Yes bath.  I take his clothing off of him.  Screaming.  He throws himself around.  Fourth spanking of the day.  We do not act like that.  You will get in the shower.  You need to breathe.  "I not want to breathe."  And so we're in the shower together, because I have no other way at this point, and he asks to be held.  He breathes deep with his hands on his belly.  "I love you mommy."  I love you Liam.

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When you have MS, social situations can seem like you're tripping on LSD or something.  Like you're listening to Pink Floyd while watching Wizard of Oz.  So I've got about 20 things going on in the room.  Candles everywhere.  Fire roaring.  Son not wanting to eat.  Music.  Food.  Eccentric guests.  Loud voices...Music.  10 people at a table for 4...Son wanting to play.  Where are the toys I brought...so hungry...darling where'd you get that dress...music...mommy I'm hungry I don't like this........can you pass me the........if it's not too much trouble............shrieking laughter..........clapping.......music music music....honey don't touch that.......bite of food......breeze from the window........take a bite of the music.......candles....don't touch that.....tell me a little about yourself.................................................how are you.......what do you like to candles......music.......breeze.......don't touch that...........so you work in.............oh Libbie can do that................Liam you need to eat......................at last my life is like a song......................please don't touch that................................................................everyone talking at once...................andy he had a terrible day I couldn't eve............oh your grandmother just died........................I'm sorry.............hug me........................mommy....................................................music.............................................fire..................................................................this...............is................not...................fun.....................
and then they wonder why we don't like going out in social situations.

The Gusher asks me where I got my dress.  "Ann Taylor.  Clearance.  Gift card."
The Gusher asks me where I get my son's clothing.  "Consignment."
The Gusher asks me how I like my short hair.  I touch my hair.  I hadn't styled it.  "I like it."
The Gusher asks me if we're having more children.  "Maybe?  Not now."
The Gusher asks if it was a medical concern.  "I have MS."

Silence.

And here it is.  The huge elephant in the room.  Gusher of course gushes.  Tells me I'm beautiful.  Asks if it's terminal...  terminal...really?  Grabs Andy's hands and tells him she's SO SORRY.  This must be SO SAD for him.  Then she calls her Uber car.  She drinks another glass of wine.  Someone spills her glass of wine. The party stops so they can clean it up.  The moment is over.  I take my glasses off, hoping they're adding to the insanity and lack of clarity of it all.  It doesn't help.  Gusher's arm movements are too big for the tiny apartment.  She leaves.  I think I like her...I think she'd like me if I wasn't flaring so badly.  If I hadn't spanked my child 4 times that day.  If I had not spoken of myself and turned the conversation back to her.  If I was on my A game.

"I know all about MS."  Room mate exclaimed in a wine-drunk kind of way.  "The mylar is being eaten by your immune system and you have to take shots and shit.  Interceron and all that."  Yes.  Mylar.  Like a balloon.  Shots and shit.  Exactly.  Interceron.  You're an expert. Clearly.  "My MS has made me what I am," I said clearly, "I own it.  It's mine.  It changed my life.  It changed our marriage.  Andy and I fight it together."  "WHY would you celebrate that?"  He slurred.  "You have faith in GOD, so why not just celebrate that by His stripes you are healed?"  I stared at Andy.  Gusher threatened to call for an Uber again.  Room mate assured her he was fine to drive.  Liam asked to pee.  Pee.  Uber.  MS.  mylar.  interceron.  faith.  the music is so loud.  We need to go.

I didn't say goodbye to anyone.  The stairs in the place are ridiculously treacherous.  I told Liam to go down on his butt and not stand up no matter what until he got to the bottom.  I held on to the walls as I inched my way down, mentally calculating how to fall the most agile way, so as not to create ruckus, should I fall.  I didn't fall.  I breathed in the fresh air.  Over.

"I wish I was the woman you married."  I whispered to Andy in the car.  "I wish this wasn't me."  He held my hand.  "I know."  He said.  "I know."

And in the end...

My grandmother passed away on October 29th at around 7:45 in the morning.

She went peacefully.  With my grandfather's name on her lips.  She knew where she was going.  She knew what she was going to do when she got there.  She wasn't afraid.

Tomorrow it will be a week.  My dad and aunt went to get the ashes from the funeral home, and brought them back and promptly sat them on her mantle.  The urn is cold and gray and decorated with what looks like a Greek pattern.

We all came to her house last night and took things that were meaningful to us.  I felt like the Thenardiers from Les Miserables.  Who wants this?  Anyone interested in that?  You want back this thing you gave her? 

Clothing was taken from the closets and put in large black trash bags.
Jewelry boxes were opened and displayed.  Nothing of real value, except sentiment.
China cupboards were emptied and the contents arranged haphazardly on folding tables.
We all walked around with our hands behind our backs, surveying the loot like museum artifacts.

Everything came with a memory.  Things that did not hold sentimental value were put in a pile to be donated along with the toaster and the like.  As we would touch objects, we would recall the moments we remembered with them.  The coffee mugs.  The items she would ALWAYS have on the coffee table.  The things she had hanging on the walls for as long as any of us could remember.

I remembered this key chain she had- pappy gave it to her.  It had a $20 bill in it ever since I could remember.  She said it was there for an emergency.  An emergency she never had, apparently, because when we went through her purse it was still there.  Her purse was actually stolen once in a store.  The robbers took her wallet and chucked the rest of the purse out of the car window.  They should've kept the keys.  There was probably more money in the key chain than in her purse.

We also came across all this stuff she never used.  Like.  Ever.  Like, hadn't seen the light of day since their wedding day.  She had everything labeled- that was her thing.  Little tiny bits of paper with her polite handwriting on them.

"Bought this from a little old peddler man.  My first real ring."

"The scratches on this chest are from Newton jumping up on it to look at the window."

"Candles given by maybe Francie Frank I'm not sure."

And on and on.  Everything was a treasure.

Liam wanted in on the action, of course, and so I told him he may only pick the things that made his heart sing.  "If you pick something up and you can feel your heart sing, you may ask permission to have it.  Everyone needs to be mindful of everyone else."

He came home with a coffee mug, a small blue vase, a baby food maker, some wind chimes and other outdoor items, kaleidoscopes, some small cars, and a pocket knife in the shape of a train.  Some absolutely amazing treasures for a 3 year old boy.  He held the pocket knife in his pocket like it was going to jump out and fly away if it wasn't grasped tightly.  He was so proud.

I took silly things.  A cup I remembered drinking from.  Door stops I had always admired.  A locket I found.  Some wooden boxes I thought were cool.  The glass bottle of water she always kept next to the fridge because she didn't like cold water.  A few boxes of table linens she never ever opened.  Everything odd and old and precious to me. 

Andy was given his choice of pocket knives and also requested a signed head shot of a band leader from the 40's.  She had apparently sent away for it when she was young because the envelope only said her name, the street she lived on and the town.  Who needs a house number?  He quietly followed me around the house, taking objects from me and carefully arranging them in boxes to be taken home.

By the end of the night I had six boxes, a small side table, and a bench my grandfather made.  It was sobering at best.  I had never wanted anything at my Nanny's house but Nanny.  Her giggle.  Her laugh.  The way she would get down on her knees and play with her GREAT grandchildren.  The way she loved Pappy.  And us. And Liam.  How she'd never smile for pictures because she always hated her smile.  How she always dreamed of red hair and freckles...

Those things can only live in my heart, not in my home.  So I will take this moment to re-evaluate.  Why am I keeping clothing "just for nice"?  Why do we have dishes we never use?  Use them!  Because it's not the boxed items that people went for first last night- it was the worn stuff.  The table with the scratches.  The dumb plastic cup you always reached for.  Those are the things that create memories- not the linens that haven't been out of the box since the 40's.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

Because I could not stop for death...

It kindly stopped for me.
The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility – 

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring – 
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – 
We passed the Setting Sun – 

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill – 
For only Gossamer, my Gown – 
My Tippet – only Tulle – 

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground – 
The Roof was scarcely visible – 
The Cornice – in the Ground – 

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the
Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity –
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My grandmother is dying.

She's got cancer.  Does anyone die of anything other than cancer anymore?  Ugh.  My Pappy (her husband) died of pancreatic cancer.  My mom's parents died of bladder and lung.  Now my last Nanny, my favorite one out of any of them, lung as well.  Not smokers lung, just...that's where it lives.

She's hallucinating now.  It won't be long for her.  We thought it was going to be yesterday, so we all dropped everything we were doing and ran to her.  In the car I prepared this whole heartfelt speech to give to her.  I came in holding Liam and went to her bedside and I delivered it with gusto.  Sobbing and crying the whole time.  But I said what I needed to. 

I told her, "Nanny, YOU DID AWESOME.  You have raised us to be good people who love God.  You've taught us to pray.  You've been our prayer warrior.  Make sure you check in with Jesus before you go running to Pappy.  And when you find him, tell him we miss him every day.  Tell him we all found wonderful spouses and he'd love them.  But Nanny, you've done AWESOME.  And it's okay to go now.  We love you so.  Very.  Much."  And through the morphine and the blank expression on her face...she started to cry.  Her eyes were closed but her mouth crinkled up and she whimpered.  I repeated over and over- "I.  Love.  You."  She held my hand and wouldn't let it go.

Pastor Trevor came.  He prayed over her.  Read her scripture.  Assured her of her Salvation in Christ.  Prayed over her.  Prayed with us.  He took Liam over to play with his children, which worked out so well.  He brought us supper.  MAN, we're going to miss this guy.  He isn't even my Nanny's pastor.

So we sat.  And we waited.  Hospice nurse came.  "Could be hours...could be days."

So we sat.  And we waited.

breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...

Her heart is strong, but her body is failing.  I was reading their systems shut down one at a time- digestion first.  Heart and lungs last.  When you're sitting there watching someone die, your mind does weird things and goes weird places.  You start contemplating the meaning of life.  You start wondering how you will go.  Just because I have MS doesn't mean it will kill me.  It's not going to help my case though. 

I was sitting there on the sofa with my cousins, watching the breathing and knitting a blanket for a long awaited baby, contemplating how the end of life is SO MUCH like the beginning of it.  You're pregnant for SO LONG, and then you finally can't stand it and you must deliver.  Your brain stops loving the kicks and the caress of the belly, and you sorta get angry about it, which is the fuel to help you push that little sucker OUT.  When death is immanent, you make your peace with it.  You don't WANT it to happen, but you allow yourself to explore it mentally and you become "okay" with it.  If that's possible.  And then you start to see the suffering of the patient and the care givers and you think- okay, this NEEDS to happen.  And in that is the strength to get you through the actual breathing of the last breath.

breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...breath...

Nobody knows our last breath.  Not even us.  I wouldn't want to know.

So we will continue to sit.  And wait.

Peace be with you.

Liam's birthday was last week!  Hip hip!

I kept it EXTREMELY low key this year, and that's not a lie.  My anxiety level was so high, I was about ready to call the whole thing off.  The "theme" was Toy Story Drive In.  So I borrowed a projector and my parents set up the garage as a movie theater.  I rented a popcorn machine, which I think the adults liked as much as the kids.  We made tacos to eat.  There were under 30 people there- 10 of which were little ones.  It was fun!

I planned to invite my good friend from up north- one of those people who upon the first meeting, there was some instant clicking going on.  Lots of laughter.  Talking.  Smiling.  Hugs when departing.  You know the kind- natural friendships.  So I invited her to Liam's party.  She bought train tickets.  She and I began to plan our visit.

My mother in law had other plans.

"She's not welcome.  And I couldn't possibly have a good time if I knew she was going to be there."

Really?

"I think she's loud and opinionated.  She makes me feel awkward."

Pot calling the kettle black much?

"I don't want her there."

--So what, pray tell, would you have me do?

"I don't know.  I could be the adult here, but I don't feel like it.  I don't want her there."

At this point, I erupted.  (I feel it prudent to mention I was in the bathroom at the time.  Liam was opening gifts for his ACTUAL birthday DAY, my parents were downstairs, we had just finished cake...  And for those who aren't parents, there's a little siren which goes off when kids realize their parents are on the phone.  It's much like a dog whistle...but it encourages kids to just run WILD and get into every possible thing they can get their grubby little paws on.  This requires multi tasking.  AND ANOTHER THING.  I hate talking on the phone.  Just laying there talking frustrates me to no end.  Multi-task.  The end.)

What I said went something like "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  FINE.  I'LL UN-INVITE HER."

"Well I mean I just-"

"STOP TALKING.  I SAID I'D UN-INVITE HER.  WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT?"

"I know how this sounds."

At this point, I wanted to reach through the phone and grab her.  Yes, I know how this sounds.  You are CHOOSING to make a poor decision.  "I could be an adult, but I choose not to be."  One thing my MIL loves are peace signs.  She's a grown up hippy.  But not the kind who does sit ins and rallies for the whales.  No no.  She wears peace signs.  They're on her walls.  In her art work.  On her shirts and earrings.  Peace peace peace.  Except for unwanted guests.  Except for people she decides are "not one of us."

This is like claiming "I'm pro-life!  No abortion!  Save the babies!"  And then in the next breath condemns "illegals" to get out of our country.  I'm pro-life!  Just.  Not YOUR life.

Our pastor is leaving our church.  It saddens me GREATLY because we love him and his family.  They are our best friends, quite literally.  They have three great kiddos, and we all have lots in common.  For a church who practices "peace," we're not seeing much of it.  Many times where strong opinions are voiced, the need to be heard outweighs the need to practice peace.

We went out for breakfast the other morning.  Andy ordered eggs over easy.  The waitress came to our table bearing his eggs and a terrible look on her face, "Sir.  I bumped your toast and it broke your egg yolk.  I'm SO SO SORRY.  I can take it back."  Andy looked at her and gently said, "Oh I don't care.  I'll break it myself here soon!"  She breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you so much.  You wouldn't believe how people get so upset over that."

I could choose to love refugees entering our country out of fear, but I don't want to.  They should get their papers like everyone else.  Women and children be damned.

I could choose to speak to the pastor about my concerns, but an anonymous letter seems like a more valiant way to get my point across.

I could choose to look at my waitress making minimum wage as a person and ignore my broken yolks, but, eh, she should get a better job anyway.

I could choose to be an adult, but I don't want to.

As an aside, my inlaws never made it to the party.  My MIL had a high BP and went to the ER and they found out she had strep.  She's got a medical heart issue- I'm not sure what it's called.  But high BP could be fatal.  Maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones and let go of some hate.

My friend was gracious and did not attend the party.  She changed her train ticket for Thanksgiving, which seems like an awesome time to be together with the people you love. 

Grace and Peace be with you.
(And also with you.)

It's Me! Only...better.

In the last 10 months, I have been on a quest.  Better me.  Better life.  Better family.

Move forward.  Move up.  Just move.

After the Great Barfing of 2015 (let us never forget...) life went on.  My MS remained in remission...until it flared again.  I could feel everything, it wasn't a relapse.  It's just all those ridiculous shots I was giving myself?  Yeah, not working.  Not even a little.  More lesions on my brain.

Then came the great schism of the insurance companies.  Geisinger stopped "participating" with Pinnacle.  What does that even mean?  Well for starters, I got to find all new doctors for myself AND Liam.  OBGYN to pediatrician, neurologist to PCP.  Go ahead and transfer all those files and find someone new to confide in.  You'll be fine.  You mean you've been going to the same OBGYN since you were 16?  Awww.  That's adorable.  Go ahead and find a new one.

The new neuro stared at my chest the whole time.  "My job is to keep you out of a wheel chair for as long as possible."  He so pointedly remarked.  Wheelchair?  What?  I didn't think I was that bad?  He showed me my MRI (up until now I'd never seen one) "All these white spots are lesions.  You need another medication."

My new med was proven to drop your heart rate in the first dose, so you needed to be under the care of a doctor for 8 hours to make sure if I dipped, I didn't dip too far.  And if I dipped too far...well.  Someone to bring me up again.  They came to my home and took my blood.  Blood didn't make it to the lab in time (snow storm).  Had to have it drawn again.  Then the doctor who was supposed to come the very next day to do the first dose quit.  Two weeks later, they found a new doctor.  He was a slight fellow, interesting enough to make the day progress quickly.

MuckFest came and went.  My team was wonderful this year.  This year it was different.  Last year was awesome, but this year was more...spiritual somehow.  The one member of my team, Linda, had lost her husband at Christmas.  Our pastor and his wife were on my team.  Zoi, my new aunt, was on our team.  Lives were changed.  I was in the ER with breathing issues 4 days ahead of time.  Anxiety, they said.  I believed it.

The MS Fitness Challenge came to town.  "You're signing up."  Andy told me.  So I did.  I kept making calls and filling out forms until they HAD to include me.  My trainer's name is Lydia.  She's absolutely beautiful.  (Andy says she's not his type.  Okay? Um?  Good?)  She's got gazelle-like qualities that make me feel like a 30 year old mommy with MS.  She's so incredibly nice, it makes me excited to work out with her.  I'm lifting weights like a boss.  I'm TWICE the person I was 2 years ago when I was flat on my back, unable to maneuver my leg.

6 months later, no new lesions.  No change.  "Condition stable."  To God be the glory.  See you again in 6 months to check again.

I twitch now, which is like, ugh.  Seriously?  Makes me look like some Tourettes patient.  It's not too bad, just irritating.  Gets worse when I'm nervous.  The end.

I will tell people, "MS saved my life."  And nobody gets that.  When our marriage was failing, MS stopped us in our tracks and gave us something new to fight against.  We started talking, and I mean REALLY talking.  My husband became more compassionate.  I became someone I liked again.  MS gave us a common cause.  It's "our" disease to fight.  So we fight it.  Because of MS, I was challenged to lose weight.  Lots of weight.  People see me in the grocery store and don't know me.  I say, "It's Libbie? Libbie George?"   "OH!  We didn't even recognize you!"

There's something extraordinary about being the best version of yourself you can possibly be.  It's like being me...only better.

May I Write Again?

I'm embarrassed.

Last time I wrote was the new year...January.  It's October.  This isn't the way friendships are supposed to go but...  sometimes life just picks up steam, you know?

I can't even begin to form the words to express what an amazing place I'm in right now.

Liam is three years old today.  Three.  Years.  I re-read my blog entries from his entrance in this world, and my stomach just ached.  Seems all so far away.  The majority of my friends are on baby number two!  I've held many friends through miscarriages.  I've celebrated 1st, 2nd, 3rd birthdays with all their children.  It's just been busy.

There's been times I've concocted blog entries in my head.  What I'd say to the masses about a particular subject. (Something witty and original, of COURSE!)  But honestly, who cares?  So many times a friend will post a blog entry and I'm like- blah blah blah.  Sorry.  I'm not a blog reader.  But I came back to my page here to read about my labor and I saw- over 11,000 hits.

People are reading.

So I'm coming back with my tail between my knees stating, I really really want to write again.

So I will.

Careful, mom.

Okay here's a riddle to start your new year:

What smells like puke, makes you go through half a pack of TP, and causes your out of town guests to stay longer than they wanted to?

Give up? That's okay. So did I. 

It's the GI bug, of course!! And when five adults and one toddler run through it in 48 hours, you would give up too. Did I mention we have one bathroom. Did I mention five adults. Did I mention I have a two year old who isn't well versed in the art of throwing up. 

Salvation came through a pair of these babies:

You can only listen to other people yarf for so long until you're ready to take a long run in a short gym. Speaking of gym- those are my husband's gym shorts I'm wearing. Because I own no more baggy clothing. 

When everyone left and we Rug Doctor-ed the last "just about made it"s out of our oriental rug...we knew we just needed to get out of the house. On New Year's Day, you've got slim pickins.  But we found a place with nothing but huge bouncy things like at a carnival. $9.50 per parent and Liam was free. Only thing is- people over 200lbs need not apply. 

Sigh. Welp. Glad I lost that weight. 

This amazing kid skipped the 4 and under ones and just went to the top of the biggest slides pronto. At one point, he had scaled the top of this very daunting slide and was sitting there patiently watching his 30 year old mother do her best to fling her leg over the top of this INCREDIBLY UNSTABLE blow up obstacle. "Careful, mom." He says. 

Careful, mom? Mom? What happened to, "help me, mommy!!" ??? Now he's like my mentor at the top of this carnival attraction??? Mom?

Earlier in the day I was standing in the bathroom trying desperately to do anything with my hair. Liam comes in and hugs my leg, "Happy, mommy?"

My heart melted. Yes! I am happy! You make me that way! Every day I get more attached to you and I love you more and I make you promise me you'll never grow up. But you will. And IF I've done my job correctly, my happiness and wellbeing will STILL be important to you. And BECAUSE I've done my job right, I will tell you- I'll be okay! You GO and do whatever you want! Whatever makes YOU happy! 

In the meantime...

You're going to need to go to Nana's now. Because you may be feeling better, but mommy is not. And selfies on the toilet are unbecoming. 

From my potty to yours, Happy New Year, friends.