My Vagina

The title seems pretty self explanatory but for those of you who think I'm just being cheeky, tonight's blog post comes with fair warning:  If you are my parents or my siblings or my child in the future, or a run of the mill prude who still thinks vaginas and women's health is too taboo, do not read any further!  

Tonight I am airing some laundry that I have kept pretty well to myself.  It's not ugly laundry, it's not abnormal laundry (sadly, it's more common then I'd thought), it's not dirty at all.  And yet, it's something that has managed to make me feel like a failure as a woman and as a wife, something that has tested the relationship I am beyond lucky to be in.  It's occupied more then 3 years of my life, and that's how long it's taken for me to gather the courage (and my husband's blessing) to talk openly about it.  

I know that all sounds pretty intriguing and dramatic, but again, this is a blog about my vagina.  And it's not a sexy blog.  

Most mothers will complain (half jokingly, or dead seriously) that their children ruined their vaginas. If you're able to experience a vaginal delivery, it comes with a slew of after effects that can last a lifetime if not treated properly; muscle weakness, trouble peeing (or not peeing..), etc.  Our child, despite the size of his head, was not what ruined my vagina, however.  My doctor did.

I always feel it necessary to point out that while my vagina has been a painful, infuriating situation since my delivery, my doctor is the one who diagnosed my Endometriosis.  It feels like right thing to do, defend him at least a little.  This man saved my life, quite literally, but he also ruined my vagina. He, and his archaic male brain destroyed my vagina. 

Our son really should have been born via C-section.  My hips dislocated more then once during a way too long labor and I was on so many painkillers that I couldn't tell when to push, but I was terrified of being cut open.  (A C-section is a lot different then a couple laparoscopies.)  Because of my naturally tiny vagina, and my tilted birth canal I was pushing him down instead of out, and the quickest way to hurry the process a long was an episiotomy.  (Please keep any and all anti-medical intervention comments to yourself, thanks.)

My episiotomy wasn't even that bad!  I have friends who were snipped or tore right from the front to the back!  (If you're a man and you're reading this, did you know that?!  Did you know that while books and romantic comedies preach that a woman's body is made to have babies, babies can actually rip a gigantic hole through us?!  Can you please take a moment to appreciate that!)  My episiotomy terrified me once it was mentioned, but it was very straight forward, it was also very straight (sometimes they're on an angle).  I went into shock almost immediately after our son was out and the nurses had rushed him away, so I was nearly unconscious when my doctor gently mentioned he was going to stitch me up and get out of our way.  I remember SO little of my labor and delivery experience, but I remember him joking, 'don't worry, daddy' to my husband while starting the stitches.  I thought he was joking, anyways. 

The Husband Stitch is really, an absolutely unnecessary 'practice'.  Vaginas are fucking resilient, and while we'd all assume that a human being coming out MUST stretch a vagina, it really doesn't.  Not after only one human being, anyways.  But society would assume that it would.  Society also assumes that the tighter a vagina is, the better.  And therein lies my problem.

The Husband Stitch is essentially an extra stitch thrown in after repairing a tear or an incision, to insure that things down there are good and snug for the husband after those cautionary 6 weeks have passed and sex can safely resume.  Because of course, after a woman has carried a fucking watermelon inside her uterus for 40 weeks and then pushed said watermelon out of her tiny vagina after hours of inconceivable contractions, doctors should worry about how the husband feels.  

Let me tell you, my husband would have been MUCH more satisfied had my doctor given him a secret tip on getting your newborn to sleep for more then 2hrs in a row, instead of an extra stitch. This stitch has done him no good.

I was genuinely looking forward to that dreaded 'mom vagina'.  The one I was born with was too small in my opinion, and I was excited for some extra room.  My husband is not freakishly endowed, but we JUST fit.  Before having a baby, sex almost always began the way the first time began; not totally comfy.  It always took a minute before I could really enjoy myself.  Luckily, I really enjoyed myself after that first minute or two. 

Like most new moms, the idea of having sex again after birthing a baby and especially after stitches is fairly terrifying.  Your insides are jello and all out of place for weeks after a baby comes out, and stitches in your vagina literally suck the breath out of you every time you stand up or sit down.  You KNOW it's not going to be enjoyable!  The tips my mom friends and I passed around included, 'get very drunk first', and 'put a pillow over your head so your husband can't see the awful faces you make or hear you crying'.  No mom that I knew enjoyed it for a while, so for a long time I told myself that what I was feeling was normal.  I told myself that it would get better the more we did it, though that was hard because who really wanted to do it when it felt the way it was feeling?!

To be blunt, I tore every time we had sex after I had a baby.  Every time.  Nothing substantial, it's not something my husband could visibly notice without really looking.   Imagine the worst paper cut you've ever had, then imagine it in your vagina.  Right where the incision had started.  It didn't hurt the entire time, just for a minute or two (which was normal for us, though this hurt was much worse then before) when we started and then again once we were finished.  More often then not our sexy time ended with me lying on the bed with a hot cloth between my legs.  Tucks Pads and essential oil ointment were always accessible.  

Like plenty of constantly-sucky things, I got used to it.  (If you can get 'used to' chronic Endometriosis symptoms, you can get used to anything.)  Ouchy sex became the norm, though, naturally I initiated the act much less.  'Oh!  I'm super in the mood!  Oh, but it is going to hurt..sooo maybe tomorrow..'  Of course, plenty of couples notice their sex life slowing down at least a little once a baby is introduced into the mix.  And then Lupron happened.  

Lupron is referred to as the Chemo of hormone therapy.  Despite the Laparoscopy I had when our son turned 1, my Endometriosis still had me in a revolting and desperate state, and a Hysterectomy was finally agreed upon.  Lupron was part of my 4 month pre-op treatment, hoping to shrink the Endometrial growths, and prepare my other parts to be executed.  Lupron is basically chemically-induced Menopause, and most women experience exaggerated Menopause side effects like hot flashes, mood swings, bone loss, nausea, chills and fatigue.  I was made aware of those side effects, so I wasn't shocked when they hit.  The symptoms that did take me by surprise were the random blood pressure plummets (I kept passing out), and the skin thinning.  Lupron is full of lady hormones, so of course it would effect lady parts; I expected dryness, but it also caused the skin in and around my vagina to thin out.  The skin that was already tearing.  

Sex became unbearable.  The tearing was worse and the pain was so much worse, and now it didn't go away after the first few minutes.  I feel absolutely awful saying that sex with my husband (my super sexy, amazing husband who I love a ridiculous amount) became traumatizing.  That part, was very depressing.  That feeling was so unfair.  After 2 (of 4) months of Lupron sex ended in tears (vagina tears but also crying-tears), which is more mortifying then I'd imagine, despite being with someone I'm completely open and comfortable with.  The last time we had sex I couldn't stand it, and we couldn't finish.  And I sobbed.  Snot-sobbed.  I felt beyond guilty because naturally my husband felt bad, even though none of it had anything to do with him.  

Yes, you read that right; the last time we had sex was before my Hysterectomy.  Yes, the hysterectomy I had over a year ago.  Yes!  We haven't had sex in over a year!  

Holy shit, it feels good to let that out.  Nauseating, but good.  Do you know how much shame society subconsciously makes you feel when you're not giving your husband sex?  And that's what it's seen as, a husband not getting sex.  Society thinks men need super tight vaginas, and that a man not getting sex from his wife should be pitied.  Do you know how many times I've read comments in 'support group' forums claiming that a husband not getting regular sex has the right to cheat on his wife? Because men have a natural NEED for sex, and they DESERVE it.   And honestly, that's why I haven't written about this before, for fear of crying and then slugging the first person who (even jokingly) cooed, 'aw, your poor husband!'

Obviously this situation has sucked for him.  Mega sucked.  Despite how many times he's seen me on and around a toilet, despite how different my body looks after having a baby, by husband is still remarkably attracted to me and not being able to just do your wife, is frustrating.  It is frustrating in a way that I can't understand.  You know who else it sucks for, though?  Me!  I also haven't gotten any sex in over a year!  And on top of that, I can't sit for an extended period of time without starting to ache or sting!

When I found out my Hysterectomy would be 'Laparoscopic-assisted Vaginal' (they make tiny incisions in the abdomen for the camera and tools, but in the end the organs are removed through a hole made up inside your vagina, to avoid slicing your whole abdomen in half) I got my hopes WAY up.  Many Hysterectomies preformed that way require an episiotomy (especially when you've got a giant disease-ridden uterus), and we agreed that it was the perfect opportunity to repair my initial episiotomy.  Ta da!  I was nearly more excited for the new lease on a sex life then I was for the chance of living an Endo-symptom-free life.  

I already said that we haven't had sex since before my Hysterectomy, so, obviously it didn't work.  

Making a small vagina bigger is much harder then making a bigger vagina smaller.  Surgeons are very rarely asked to do that, meanwhile vaginal Botox and vaginal lifts are still all the rage.  I said (more then once) that my vagina was just too small, but my surgeon (the same one) and his team focused on the tearing aspect of my complaints.  To insure the skin would no longer tear, they used surrounding tissue to reinforce the area after my Hysterectomy.  I cried a lot (hysterical IV-pain killers crying) after my first follow up with him in the hospital, the day after the surgery; they'd left an ovary in, and they'd 'repaired' my vagina instead of resizing it.  

Ps.  I thought vagina stitches after having a baby was bad, but vagina stitches after mega organ removal is actually worse.  

I was overly cautious after surgery.  We waited a lot longer then the suggested 8 weeks, because I was terrified.  I was terrified that it would hurt, and terrified of the possible disappointment.  Because what the fuck would we do if my vagina was still broken?  Get a divorce?  Find my husband a side piece?

My vagina is too small, and now it is also a brick wall.  Basically.  Between the reinforcing tissue and the scar tissue there is absolutely no give to the skin down there.  All (most?) vaginas look smaller then a penis, but they naturally stretch to accommodate.  Mine doesn't.  

Initially I thought it was just me, again.  I kept thinking I was just too anxious, or not horny enough thanks to the post-uterus hormone imbalance.  And I bet plenty of people would assume that, after reading this, that I just haven't tried hard enough, or I just haven't wanted it bad enough.  But I want it, and we have tried.  We tried hard, and a lot.  This time, it is something that is substantial and obvious to my husband.  He can not get it in.  We tried hard, and a lot, and then we stopped trying. 

And this is when everyone starts to wonder, how the F do you survive a sexless marriage?  And I tell you that it has not been easy.  

Holy shit, there is an absurd amount of importance placed on sex inside a relationship!  I would never say that it isn't important, because it is.  But it is not the most important aspect.  I know that now.

We really love each other, and we both WANT to have sex, that definitely makes things easier.  It's not a sexless marriage because one or both of us have lost the desire or grown less attracted to each other.  It's not his fault, it's not my fault, and that definitely helps.  

In the beginning, things were very tense.  We both tried ignoring the lack of intimacy, and we both became quite passive aggressive, and bitter.  We avoided talking about it because we were both, it turns out, scared of what might be said.  He was scared I would say that I didn't want to try anymore and that I was fine never having sex again, I was scared he'd say we couldn't be together anymore if we didn't have sex.  The conversation wasn't super happy, we both got angry and we both got sad, it took a few days to get through, but it was a game changer.  

When I say that we've had a sexless marriage for the last year and a half, I simply mean that we haven't had stereotypical intercourse.  After that conversation though, we make a conscious effort to keep our relationship plenty sexy, regardless.  Turns out, penis-in-vagina is not detrimental to a healthy sex life.  (Duh, all of my LGBTQ friends moan.)  It definitely helps that while I refer to it as 'broken' my actual vagina works just fine; my vaginal opening is a joke, but everything else is just fine.  Luckily!  Some women suffer from 'sexual dysfunctions' even though their vaginal openings are plenty roomy!  

This is where I'll start to keep personal details personal, but it works.  We make it work.  

Sometimes it feels a little like work, I won't deny that.  I won't deny that I've screamed at my TV while watching some cheesy movie where the couple gets all cute and then just bangs, because that's how it should be.  I should be able to just bang my husband whenever I want to!  Banging, is in fact easier, and that's what keeps me a little bitter these days.  When you've got a kid and jobs and a social life and the need to actually just sleep at bedtime, it's painfully obvious that's it'd be way easier to just bang and be done.  Sexy-time requires more effort and time, then just sex.  But!  Beggars can't be choosers.  

Though!  Turns out, I have the chance to choose again.  After the months of pain and frustration, after taking the necessary time to brace myself all over again for the anxiety and the recovery, my surgeon and I will meet in an OR once more, tomorrow!  

Yes, the same surgeon, because I'll be having a giant cyst removed first (being a girl is SO fun sometimes!!), and then a plastic surgeon will join him in an effort to actually fix my vagina, and return some sort of normalcy and care-freeness to my sex life.  (No pressure, guys!)

It seems like an obvious decision, another surgery, but it was actually really stressful to land on.  I've used plenty of fancy descriptive words in other blogs, but I'm not sure any of them do justice to the pain and anxiety that comes from dealing with layers (yes, multiples, internal and external) stitches in your vagina.  Unless you've had your own, it's hard to understand, obviously.  But isn't SEX worth that week or two of awful pain, and the following month or so of frustrating discomfort?  That question makes me want to scream, 'Why don't you ask a man that?!  Why don't you go ask a man if he'd hesitate to have his penis sliced open and then sewn back together?!'

Of course normal sex would be worth it!  My track record leaves me quite a skeptic, though.  What if it doesn't work, again?  What if this only makes things worse?  This is for sure the last time we will be cutting and stitching down there, I mean, that surgical area is pretty minimal, there's only so much room and so much tissue to work with.   Could it be worse then it is now?  Insert panic, here.  Fuck. 

But I (WE!) can only be hopeful, run with that 'third time's a charm' mantra!  Cross all the fingers and all the toes and knock on wood and find some eyelashes to wish on, and pray that I've been a good enough human being this year that the universe will look down upon me and say, 'Yes.  Yes, she deserves an awesome, easy to use vagina.  Duh.' 

Hysterversary

A year ago I'd be getting wheeled into the recovery wing after having spent a few hours having my uterus, cervix, tubes and an ovary removed along with a pile of Endometriosis!  A year ago I won a fight I'd picked for myself!  Even before having our son I made it clear that I wanted a Hysterectomy, and while I obviously appreciate the initial hesitation from my surgeon, after giving birth I spent 2 years (plus another bandaid surgery) convincing doctors that it was MY body and THIS was what I both wanted and needed.  

I have spent the last year recovering, regaining my life, being a far better mother and wife and daughter, and rediscovering my social life and what it's like just to be a productive human being.  It's pretty remarkable, the things you can accomplish (most of which are baby steps) when you're not on the verge of puking or passing out on a regular basis!  I have loved my world since finding my husband and starting my own family, but this past year I've fallen in love with my life again.  It's no longer a spectacularly exhausting chore being me.  

Things aren't perfect still, but I feel like a dick whenever I feel the need to whine because my every-day is so much better then it ever has been!  After the initial 12 weeks of allowing my insane hormones to settle and my remaining abdominal organs to settle into their new (roomier) homes, I had to get used to feeling NORMAL again!  For 3 of the 4 weeks every month, I wake up and I don't have to run for the toilet immediately.  I don't have to take Gravol on top of pain killers every 3-4 hours.  I can make and keep plans, leave the house without an Ativan, chase my kid around the house without wanting to cry and needing a nap more then once a day.  It's so amazing.  Feeling sick is no longer my norm, and I have a feeling that's why it now really knocks my socks off when I do get sick. 

Once a month my one ovary ovulates, and it hits me like a truck.  The constant nausea, the insane fatigue, constant bathroom breaks and the awesome breakouts come back with a vengeance.  I also now experience mind-numbing ovulation pain (because it's likely pissed there's no one to share the load with anymore) and mood swings.  As bad as the physical 'that time of the month' symptoms are, the emotional rollercoaster upsets me the most.  For 7-10 days I jump from depressed to ANGRY to way-too-happy at the drop of a hat; I need at least one real cry and I notice (with my helpless toddler) that my level of patience drops to zero.  It's also the only time I deal with any obvious anxiety, which is annoying, but also impressive.  (I haven't had to refill my Ativan prescription in over 8 months?!)

I saw my OB-GYN/surgeon this week for a mega 'followup' and my main issue was the monthly symptoms.  I get that every woman feels like a pile of shit when it's period week, but I felt like shit for 10 solid years.  The average female will experience period symptoms for approximately 492 weeks between their first period and Menopause (Christ), but I've dealt with over 520 and I'm only 32.  That's enough for me, thanks.  So I said I wanted my last ovary out, which again is met with great hesitation from medical professionals.  

Zero functional ovaries means Menopause which means Hormone Replacement Therapy.  To me, HRT at least seems regulated but of course comes with the possibility of 100 new side effects, especially considering it could be another 30 years before I'd reach natural Menopause.  So this year I will be working a new prescription (Cyclomen) into my daily routine in order to prevent ovulation, which should eliminate the monthly symptoms while still allowing natural Estrogen to be produced. Of course some of the possible side effects of this drug are the side effects I'm trying to get away from...but what's one more year of frigging experimenting my body!? (🤷🏻‍♀️)

I will still be going in for another surgery before the new year starts, though.  During my LAVH my original episiotomy was repaired, and by repaired I mean my main concern was actually made worse, but for now I shal spare social media those details (and spare my husband the possible semi-embarrassment).  I have to have an impressive cyst removed from under the scar tissue down there, and then a specialized surgeon will also come in to ACTUALLY (please, God) fix my girl stuff.  

It's entirely possible that this time next year I will feel even better then I do right now, and that makes me a little emotional.  Good-emotional.  Not fighting every single day makes me good-emotional. My toddler using his July Birthday wish for 'a better tummy for mommy' makes me so good-emotional that I could just die.  He is the best, and being able to be my best for him (most days) is the whole reason I chose to march down this particular path.  I had to fight way too damn hard for my right to make major decisions for my own body, and the following recovery was much harder then I'd imagined, but it has already been so, so worth it.  

5..4..3..2..1

December 31, 2016

Drugs that are meant to be taken when one is sick, should not be allowed on the market until they no longer taste like they're going to make one sick.  The insta-Imodium has a stomach-soothing mint flavor, and don't get me wrong, I know mint is a stomach-soother, my Diffuser is currently pumping out a blinding amount of Peppermint.  This drug mint though, manages to coat your tongue and your throat somehow, making you too afraid to swallow ever again and have to relive it.  

I'm very on the fence right now, at 5am on the last day of the year.  The half-empty side of me is screaming 'What he fuck!? After all I've fucking been through this year I'm STILL going to be sick on New Years Eve?!  Go fuck yourself!  Fuck!'  The half-full side of me though, is really impressed with how well I've handled this morning's sick so far.  

Boden woke up, so I woke up.  An early wake up is normal (I'm constantly reminding myself that he did just sleep 10 straight hours), he likes a bottle and a show and then he's content or falls asleep again until closer to 8am.  The hot and the dizzy hit while I was in the kitchen cutting open a new bag of milk, and my initial thought is ALWAYS 'flight'.  I was going to run upstairs and wake my husband up to take over then take all the drugs and throw myself into a pile on the bathroom floor and just wait to die.  But I 'fight'-ed it.  I took deep breaths while the bottle in the microwave counted down its 25 seconds, I took deep breaths while I lowered the brightness and the volume on the iPad.  I even got his diaper changed and tucked him back in before realizing I could barf on him if I didn't get moving.  And even then I was able to grab my phone and my pillow, wake my husband up (just in case), get a cold cloth and take the first Ativan I've had in two months (since I had the flu, just before we moved), before finally sitting on the toilet.

The fact that it's been two months since my last Ativan is pretty remarkable all on its own.  There have been so many moments that I wanted one.  Really, there have been too many moments where I've wanted one...and now I'm worried that something may not be right, because I've been nauseous, exhausted and in pain and dealing with daily diarrhea for the last two weeks, which seems like too much to simply blame on the non-bleeding menstrual cycle I still have thanks to my one stupid ovary.  But that is a whole other story, and I haven't taken an Ativan since the last time I was really sick.  I can deep breathe through nausea and an anxious poo and 'uterus' pain, but once it's coming out both ends I think anyone who doesn't take #allthedrugs is really just a moron.  

Feeling sick on and off for the last few weeks has been very trying as far as my anxiety goes.  My Hysterectomy was almost 5 months ago, and before lately I was feeling so amazing on an every day basis.  Over time I was getting used to feeling normal when I woke up, I was subconsciously letting my guard down, naturally.  So the occasional upset tummy would really throw me for a loop.  In the midst of my Endometriosis I was nauseous all day and every day, and that's what I was used to. Diarrhea didn't phase me anymore, needing to spend a morning in a small Gravol coma and wrapped around my heating pad didn't phase me, because that was my norm.  But it's not anymore, and it's not supposed to be (because I chopped all my sick parts out of me!!), so now I panic a little more when it happens to hit.  

The half-empty side of me is buzzing with conspiracy theories (I've got the flu again, my ovary is full of Cancer, they missed some Endo and now it's growing back again so what the fuck was the point, I'm going to go to jail after I murder my surgeon because obviously he fucked something up and then I'll miss my friend's mountain wedding and my kid's 3rd Birthday and they probably don't just hand out Ativan in jail and can you imagine being THIS sick in a jail cell instead of this remarkably roomy and pepperminty new ensuite of ours...), but the half-full side of me is calmly reminding me to be thankful and so proud of myself.  I have done huge things this year, I've survived huge things.  

•We hosted our 2nd Birthday party and a Halloween party, things that would have required multiple Ativans and cries and probably rescheduling the year before.  

•My business is still up and running and successful!  Admittedly I worried it may be a fad, or the initial success may have simply been good luck, or that I'd lose interest, but I continue to choke back happy tears every time a new order comes through and even banged out our first (75 piece) wholesale order!  

•I hosted two more Mommy Made Bazaar events, one of which allowed me to deliver extra Christmas smiles to 64 amazing and grossly deserving mothers of sick children.  These events always lead to stress-induced anxiety and I always question why I choose to put myself through it again, but in the end I always feel proud and so successful.  

•My little family and I spent a long weekend in NYC and it's the first trip (there or anywhere) that didn't require even a single Ativan or Gravol or Imodium!  Don't get me wrong, navigating the city with a toddler was plenty stressful and he kept us from getting sufficient sleep, but it was honestly the greatest family 'vacation', and possibly my greatest memory of 2016 (next to my surprise 30th Birthday fiesta, I mean).   

•We moved, and rather suddenly!  We'd spent a few months looking for a new place with my dad, but had given up which was definitely a relief for me.  The idea of packing up all of our shit was terrifying.  But then we found the perfect home out of nowhere and my dad worked it out so that we had ample time before our closing date, and we actually had both houses for almost a month so we could take our time painting and moving a little at a time.  We are in a new city which is in no way ideal, 25 minutes from our best friends and our cozy mall and the Starbucks that I could walk to, but I've allowed myself time to adjust.  I still hate it some days, the location, but our home is perfect with its big rooms and big backyard, and our family is so happy.  Our odd us + Grampa + Jach the Nigerian housemate family.  

•And I had a Hysterectomy.  Even if in the end this surgery wasn't enough to fix the thing that has been trying to break me for years, it is still my biggest victory of the year.  Possibly ever.  Though, in Grade 5 I won the city-wide public speaking award with a speech on commercials.  I've also correctly guessed how many candies are in the jar on more then one occasion.   (Shit.  I've lead an impressive life.) 

I fought for this surgery, I fought for it harder then I've had to fight for anything else.  I wanted it, and this year I refused to take no for an answer yet again.  The recovery was unbelievable, and nearly 5 months later there is still an aspect of recovery that in dealing with (and constantly drafting a blog about), but I have survived it.  We all have.  Everyone around me has worked so hard to see me survive it, and I couldn't be more thankful.  

They say that you can't pour from an empty cup, and this surgery was my way of refilling mine.  At least half full!  If we ignore these last few weeks, this surgery brought a renewed sense of energy and love for life, some sort of freedom.  If we ignore these last few weeks I can proclaim that I've felt 85% better then I did 6 months ago.  Not perfect of course, but 85%!?  That's a huge number!  I can easily feel that I am a better wife and mother and friend, and that is a great success.  I did that for myself, and that is pretty awesome. 

I've scrolled through so many #fuck2016 posts this last week, and it makes me so sad.  Yes, there have been horrific natural and completely unnatural disasters this year.  There's Trump.  I have friends who have had to face divorce and friends who have lost deeply loved ones.  Half of Hollywood's Walk Of Fame seems to have moved up to Heaven this year.  Brock Turner.  Florida.  There have been car accidents and fights and questioning it all.  But even in my sick moments, I am managing to feel thankful.  Thankful my loved ones are still with me, thankful I'm not American, thankful no one was hurt when some dummy rammed into our car, thankful for the love that has surrounded me every day even when I'm a sick and miserable pile of lame.  Especially our 2 and a half year old boy who just bust in here when he should have been back to sleep, smiley and snuggles into my lap on the bathroom floor, like the perfect little puppy that he is.  

It was a long year, and a rough year, unfairly rough on some, but I survived it.  We survived it!  We've all survived one more year, and we are going to do remarkable things in the next one.  I can feel it.  I may only be half full, but this next year feels like it may be awfully replenishing.   

Deep breaths.  Happy New Year.