Day 4 With The New Girls

Well there you haven them. The before's and the four days later.  Once my mother finds out I have posted these pictures, I am sure I will receive a call reminding me that if they are on the internet...they are forever...and that someone in China may be stealing my credit card info.

But until then....let's face it.  We know each other.  You know about my turkey waddle...you know when I get sunburnt on the cho-cha.  You have seen my boobs pooling in my bra. 

We are at the point in our relationship that I can share these pictures with you.  AND...you can't even see my nipples. AND...my head is not in the pictures, so technically...if these ever appear on 20/20 or The Queen Latifah show...I can say they aren't mine...that I was just holding them for a friend.

So they day of surgery we arrived bright and early.  6:00 am for check in time.  They called me back into the changing room where I got my pretty little robe and these sexy compression socks that hit me at mid thigh.  They should brace you for that...it was very much like recreating the moment when I open the can of cinnamon rolls and half of the dough is sploojing out of the can...except the dough was my thigh meat and the can was the compression sock.  So I got those on, opened the door and blew a kiss to Heather, and padded back to the exam room in my baby blue non-slip socks.

I was nervous.  More nervous for this than the lapband.  After they started my I.V., my sister and Heather came back to keep me company until Dr. Patterson arrived.  Once he came it, he stood me up with his magic marker and started drawing out the masterpiece.  He asked me what size I wanted to be.  I said small C.  I told him to keep these words in mind "cute, perky, sporty".  We were not going for "pornstar".  He was on board.  After that, I kissed Heather goodbye and headed to the operating room. 

The operating room is the scariest part.  I remember it being the scariest part of the lapband surgery.  They strap you down before you are even asleep. 

And then..

bam...

I am awake. 

After I could talk and make  a little pee in a cup, I was free to go.  Heather took me home.  I took my pain meds and slept for a little while.  Then I watched Season 5 of Sons of Anarchy with Heather...and slept some more.

On day two, we drove to the doctors office for my follow up.  All looks well.  I can't tell you how many times he and his office staff stressed the importance of DOING NOTHING...that the worst thing I could do was try to do too much too soon. 

When I first saw the new tats, I was pretty happy.  I was expecting bruising or something.  My nipples are taped bc they got snipped off for the lift, and the scar under my boob where he inserted the implanted is also taped.  The tape will stay on for 2 weeks...unless it falls off sooner.

They are still really swollen and high.  It will take about 6 weeks until I get a true idea of what size they will be, and up to 6 months before they start to really take their place where they will settle.  Heather keeps calling me Dolly, but has been a really good caretaker. 

The sportsbra/compression bra that they gave me to wear is super tight.  It is a size 32.  I wear a 36.  But, the tightness of that and the swelling in general has made my band pretty tight.  I don't know if it's the tightness or my pain meds, but my appetite has been minimal.  Which is awesome bc this not being able to work out is freaking me out.

I will keep you guys updated! 

hugs and motorboats...

Amy

oooh...ps...I have some bent over pictures of the old girls...but I will wait and reveal those when I can take some bent over pictures of my new girls.

Tomorrow I'm Swappin' Out the Sags for Some Perky Girls!

Above is a picture of the last time my girls will run an obstacle race.  They will be replaced tomorrow with new chesties.

Here is the skinny.

I am getting a breast lift with augmentation.  The lift is performed first.  He will make a keyhole incision around my nipple, take the nipple off, cut out the extra skin, put the little nip back on and stitch it up.  Sort of like this.

Then, the implant will be put in through an incision under the boob fold. 

Dr. Patterson talks in cc's.  So when people ask me what "size" I will be, I am not sure.  Probably a C.  He will decide during the surgery if he will be putting in 300cc implants or 325cc's. 

My surgery is at 7:00 am and it should last 3.5 hours. 

I have taken before pictures.  I will be wrapped/bound until my 2 day post op on Thursday.  He will unwrap me and take a look see, then wrap me back up.  I should be able to shower after that, so when I return home...I will try and take the first after picture.  I will try and post side-by-sides at least weekly. 

I am nervous, scared, and excited.

Let's cover that in the order as listed above.

Nervous:

That I will die.  I mean...anything can happen right?  I will be covering this matter with Heather when we get into bed tonight.  In lieu of flowers, I would like donations sent to the animal shelter in Topeka, KS.  I also have two life insurance policies that give Heather and my mother a good deal of money.  I mean...not enough to whack me over...but enough.  Heather is to donate some of that money to the shelter as well.  At my funeral, I want there to be a dance off between some of my favorite queer fellows, meatballs, and queso.  I do not want to be cremated.  I want to either be dipped in bronze (or platinum) or entombed so people can worship me.  Also, I will let Heather know that she is not to date or have sex again.  At least for 10 years.  This is not a Nicholas Sparks novel.  I do not wish her to find happiness with another meaty woman for a very long time.  Then end.

I am scared that I will not like the new boobies.  AND THAT'S A LOT OF MONEY TO SPEND ON SOMETHING SO PERMANENT!    What if they are too big?  What if they are too high?  What if...you know?  There are a million what if's.  What if Heather hates them? 

I am also scared of how much pain I will be in.  I have a pretty high pain tolerance...but I just don't know what to expect.  Maybe it won't be that bad. 

I am scared that maybe they will look amazing...and that will make the rest of me look even worse.

And excited...

Yes.  I am so excited.  I am excited to be able to wear a strapless dress.  I am excited to be able to bend over during sexy times and not be distracted by my swinging ladies.  I can't even really imagine.

I am off work for two whole weeks...which is also rather exciting.  Heather will be with me for 3 days.  I will post again as soon as I can...

until then...

hugs and kisses and sweet dreams of fields of lilacs and pert nipples!

The Day My Back Massager* Caught Fire

Many moons ago, I decided it was time to upgrade my battery operated back massager*.  You see, my battery operated back massager* would run out of battery juice preeeeetty often.  To often for a girl in her early 20's who, while she did get her back massaged by others, never REALLY got a good deep tissue back massage....you know....the kind of massage that helps you see the Lord and helps you to fall asleep with a little smile on your face.

So, I did some research and decided to invest in what was referred to as the "Cadillac of Back Massagers*. 

Recently, I had to lay to rest my third installment of my Magic Wand, pictured above.

One problem with corded items that see a lot of use, and then get their cord wrapped around them so they can fit discreetly in a sock drawer, is that over time, the place where the cord connects to the base of the "wand"...well that connection starts to frey a little.  The rubber coating the covers the wires inside of the cord starts to crack and give way to the actual wires.

Well one day a couple of weeks ago, after a particularly fine massage, I went to turn unplug the little guy to return it to it's home in the drawer, and before I could get to the wall...

well...

it kinda caught fire. 

Seriously.  There were sparks shooting from the torn cord.  It was like fireworks.  One little spark landed on the damn carpet and I thought I was going to have to stop drop and roll...naked.  I managed to get my little friend unplugged though...managed to stamp out the potential carpet fire...and stood there in my bedroom....back massager* in hand.  It was over.  The time had come.  I walked into the kitchen and stood in front of the trash can.  I briefly thought of burying in the yard under the oak tree.  But I didn't want to have to shovel dirt with my lady bits flapping in the wind...so I placed it in the trashcan and said goodbye.

It could have been worse I guess.  I could have caught my cooter on fire.  That would have been an uncomfortable conversation to have with the ER doc...and my girlfriend.

Happy massaging my friends!

*If you are a member of my family or one of my coworkers, please know that I really meant my back massager.  If you are anyone else, you may replace the words "back massager" with vibrator.

The end.

Low Hangers and Low Spirits

One forgets when one is not blogging, how wonderful getting comments on blog posts feels.  Thank you guys for all your comments about yesterday's post regarding my impending plastic surgery consult.

Now for the results.

First, I decided to see Dr. Nathan Patterson.  Dr. Patterson came to speak at our WLS support group several years ago, and I remember liking him then bc a) he wasn't trying to sell us on his services, b) he was honest about expected results, and c) he was cute.

So Heather and I arrived at the appointment. 

First order of business, they take me back to the changing room, complete with a white fluffy robe, and they hand me my disposable blue panties fashioned from, I am pretty sure, paper towels and string.  On to the picture room and Heather was waiting for me.  Angie (the office coordinator?  Nurse?) set up the official camera, had me drop me little old robe, and started taking pictures of my belly and then my boobs.

At this point we got to feel some implants from a drawer and I probed Angie about her own boobies. 

Off to the exam room.  Angie hooked us up with an iPad so we could watch a little video, took my vitals, and made me weigh in.

Then we awaited the arrival of Dr. Patterson.

And hence he came.

While I was immediately struck by his eye-pleasing qualities, my heart reminded me that it would always belong to my favorite elective procedure surgeon and life saver, Dr. Friedman.  But it doesn't hurt to look ya know.

So Dr. Patterson has my pictures in his lap.  Beautiful little close up pictures of my tummy and boobs taken just minutes before.  He starts with the tummy.  And at first, I am confused because I didn't know if they were pictures of MY stomach or someone else's because they didnt look as bad as I picture my stomach.  They were indeed images of my sag though.  So he explains, in great detail, about how he would do a tummy tuck.

Here are the highlights:

-I keep my belly button
-I will have 2 drains.  One for about a week, the other for around 2 weeks.
-He will put disposable staples under my stomach coming down the middle of my stomach to bring my abs back together (they can come apart after babies or being fat)
-He will lipo a little off the side
-My scar will be above my pubic line
-I will be able to return to work after 2 weeks, but he recommends 3.

We talk about my port.  He said he will talk to Dr. Friedman about replacing my port with a low profile port during the tummy tuck.

We talk more in detail.

We move to the boobies.

Now, although I felt relieved with the pictures of my stomach, I was mortified with the pictures of my boobs.  I reckon this is because I have seen my stomach in many photographs (I wear a bikini for goodness sakes), but I have never seen my saggy boobs in a 8 x 10 picture.  They were/are horrible. 

Here are the highlights:

-I would need a lift and implants
-The implant would be put in under my fold in my boob
-I would have a keyhole incision around my nipple and down my boob (from the lift)
-He recommended not going too big, somewhere around 275-300cc's.  This made me happy.
-I would be getting silicon.  Not saline
-The implant would be under my muscle

He demonstrated how durable the implants are (Heather is worried I will pop one during a mud race).  No worries he said.

He answered more of our questions.  He really was amazing.  He sold Heather...and she is a hard sell.

He said in a perfect world where time and money were not an issue, he would recommend 2 surgeries.  One would be the tummy tuck and a lift, and the other would be placing the implants.  But he said that because I am young and healthy, we could do it all at once.

So when we finish up with Dr. Patterson, we go to the room to wait for the different write ups for how much this will cost us.

I had imagined somewhere around $10k-$12k for everything.

Well it turns out that everything will run me $22k.

I just stared at the girl and smiled and tried to NOT cry and not let her see my heartbreak.

She left the room.  I cried.  But just a little.  While she was gone Heather told me we could make it work.  We could borrow from our retirement, I could use her credit cards.  If I wanted it, she would make it happen.

But I am so torn now.

On one hand, that is more than my brand new car.  And it's all for vanities sake.
On the other hand, money is money and like Heather said, we will spend it one way or the other.

On one hand, I feel selfish for making Heather spend her money to fix a body that I ruined.
On the other hand, it would mean so much to me.

This is why I didnt want to go to the consult.  I was afraid this would happen.  For it to seem so close, yet so far away.

I got home and took off my clothes and stood in front of the mirror.  I lifted my saggy little girls up.  I touched my stomach. I pulled it back, lifted it up.  I bent over and watched how everything stretched and sagged. 

And then I sat on the bed and cried.

I should just be able to love myself.  If I could accept myself for what I am, I could save tens of thousands of dollars.  That money could be used for our wedding...if it is ever legal.  It could buy us a boat.  It could pay student loans.

But I don't know if I can.

I don't know if I can ever not loathe these parts of my body.

So I am undecided.  And confused.  And stressed.

And we are juicing for 7 days.  Did I mention that?  And this is day one.  SO I CAN"T EVEN DRINK!  OR EAT COOKIES!

Damn the world.

xoxox

Do Your Boobs Hang Low?

Do They Wobble To and Fro

Can You Tie Them In A Knot

Can You Tie Them In A Bow?

If you can answer yes to the above children's song altered to speak to many a weight loss patient, then it may be time to consider...

A Boob Job

Friday I finally called and made a consultation for plastic surgery.  Amy Workman may be getting plastic surgery.  I can't wait for that to show up in a google search.

Let's rewind.  Let's begin from the beginning.

My grandma Roether had big boobies.  She was a big lady.  My mom never had big boobies, even when she was a bigger lady.  My boobies were always pretty big.  But I was always bigger.  I owned several DD creations in my time.  I would say though, on average, I was a D.  My cup sometimes spilleth over.  Even before losing weight though, my girls were heading south.  I actually don't remember a perky stage, although certainly there had to be one.  I DO recall watching Whoopie Goldberg once, and she had some joke about how you knew your boobs were saggy when you could put a pencil underneath one, let go, lift your hands in the air, and the pencil would remain right where you left it.  Under your saggy old lady tits.  I had to be in my teens.  

But when I started losing weight after lapband, I didnt think I would ever get plastic surgery.  I have always had a little negative connotation to the falsies.  My judgement doesn't carry over to others...but only pertains to me.  I sort of have the same feeling towards fake nails.  When someone says "Hey, nice nails"...they aren't really complimenting YOUR nails.  They are complimenting your plastic nails.  You did not grow them.  You did not nuture them.  You bought them.

Same holds true to fake boobs.  They would never be "mine".  Here is a better example.  If someone compliments my arms, or my back muscles...well I worked hard for those.  I put in time and sacrificed for those.  They are mine.  I grew them from little acorns.  I try to recognize that I get highlights in my hair.  And if someone says they love my hair, well I take that damn praise...so what's the difference?  I don't know if there is.  

But after losing this weight, my boobs are no longer boobs.  For those of you who have been with this little blog for years, you know that long ago my boobs became knee high socks with ping pong balls in the end.  You know that when I am clothed, one may believe I actually have boobs.  But hiding underneath my cute fitted tee is the terrible truth...skin just pooled in a C cup.

Heather loves my non-boobies.  She likes hunting for my nipples that are hiding in my arm pits.  She likes to swat at the girls as they sway back and forth.  She finds me, and the chi-chi's beautiful.  I on the other hand, get distracted by them.  I am a naked person.  I like to walk around topless.  Not at Taco Bell or Target, but at home...clothes are restrictive.  But it's dangerous.  I can't cook bacon with these girls flinging abouts.  I can't bake cookies.  I might shut one in the oven.  I have to hold them when I brush my teeth.  I have to hold them when I bend over to pet our pigs.  I am always aware of them.

Our friend from work recently had a tummy tuck and boob job.  She is our age, had gastric 10 years ago, and now weighs around 130.  She has shared her pictures and kept me updated over the last 3 weeks.  It's funny how open she is with her pictures.  We are not besties, and she works out with Heather more than I do, so when she first sent me a full frontal pre-op and one week post-op, I thought it was pretty awesome.  I also understood how she could do that.  For her, and for me, and maybe for you...our bodies after this weight loss don't really feel like our bodies.  Take a picture of our torso, and omit our heads, you are looking at the body of an 80 year old.  There is a disconnect.  But it was her openness and honesty that made me finally pick up the damn phone and call for a consult.

Because here is the truth.  I joke so much, with anyone who will listen, about the state of my body underneath my clothes.  But it makes me so sad.  If I really give myself time to contemplate my boobs and stomach, I immediately tear up.  It's hateful.  And hurtful.  And can make me so angry.  I work pretty hard for my body.  But no amount of work can fix decades of being fat.  And that is disheartening.  

So, by making a call and going to an appointment, I am allowing myself to hope. And that is scary. Because what if I can't afford it?  I can barely afford the consultation fee of $100.  What if he tells me everything he can do and I can't get it done?  I will be heartbroken.  

But I am going.  And Heather says we will make it happen one way or another.  I love her,

But let's get to my other fears.

What if I get my boobs done and they are huge and I hate them?  I don't want big huge Pamela Anderson knockers.  What if I get boobs and a tummy tuck and can't work out for weeks and weeks and I lose all my muscle (I GET that I may be exaggerating just a smidge).  What if Heather hates them?  What if people judge me?

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But there is good news for you guys.  If I am going to do this, you will get full coverage.  You will see pictures.  You will know what it feels like (from my perspective).  You will get to hold my hand and send my presents or pain killers.

Tomorrow friends.  Tomorrow.  

Shit...I almost broke out into a song from Annie.

Until then.  Hugs, kisses, and motorboats.

Yours-Amy

Fellow Losers, Gainers, and Weight Loss Maintainers

There are a couple of things that I thought would never happen.  Let's start small.

Skinny Jeans

Listen, there was a time that I am sure I have uttered something along the lines of "I will NEVER EVER wear skinny jeans"...probably accompanied by a sentence like "Just because they fit, doesn't mean you should wear them"...

but then something started to happen.  I started to see curvy ladies like myself wearing skinny jeans and well...well...they kinda worked.  So I trotted to the Loft (because they have "curvy" cut that is actually cut for curvy girls...and I tried on some skinny ankle length jeans just for shits and giggles...

and I kind of dug them. 

Here they are.  Size 8.

Anyways.  To add to this shocking turn of events, I have since bought a WHITE pair of skinny jeans.  I know.

Call me crazy.

The Day My Nipple Almost Went to Heaven

I was gifted by a friend who won a massage at a race in April.  This would be my third massage (let us pronounce massage as MUH-SAH-Geee because it is more fun) in about 4 years.  It lasted two hours.  That's a lot of time ya know?  Anywhoozle, the first hour was a "stretching" session and then came the orders "Get undressed to whatever level you are comfortable" and he exited the room. 

I am always faced with a dilemma at this point. 

Because my level of comfortable when it comes to being naked is...well...NAKED.  And I just don't ever know if they mean it?  Will he be okay if my little lady hairs poke through the sheet?  WILL HE?  So I got naked. He reenters, Muh-sah-gee begins.  The table is heated.  I no likey the heat.  But we begin face down.  My nipple must be wadded up in my boob skin...which aggravates the situation, because the heated table must be turned up from 'nice and warm' to 'sautee'...and I am pretty sure my nipple was starting to burn. 

It was on fire.

Now, by some cruel joke of creation, my nipples don't have a lot of sensitivity to begin with.  Seriously...if Heather were to try to entertain them, and my eyes were closed....I would probably have no idea.  So, for my nipple and brain synapses to be joined in partnerhood to alert me that things were wrong...well the situation was serious.  So I tried to readjust.  I tried to un-wad my boob.  I tried to raise my body just a little to relieve the annihilation of my nipple.  Finally, there was some relief and I was able to hold out until he finally said "flip over"....

Thank sweet Jesus.

A Quick Trip To Cali

We have a part of our company that is based in California.  I had been working on building some team exercises with this team and on a Thursday they asked me if I would mind flying out to California to lead them on the following Monday...

um...let me think about it...

OKAY.  So off I went to Monterrey.

I havent even been to Monterey, but after stepping off the plane to a beautiful 60 degrees (only a 50 40 degree difference from Pensacola), I decided I would need to relocate.  Long story short, I had a great little trip and snapped a picture on my way to the team building.  I titled this Business Barbie, Curvy Edition.

Ooow Ahh Ohhh

Friends.  I promise I blog to you in my head on.the.regular.  I SO wish that they had developed the technology, which I could purchase used on Amazon at a discounted rate, that would enable my thoughts to automatically feed to Blogger, thus eliminating the need to make time to actually put fingertip to keys and create a damn post!

You dig?

I know you do.

It has been nearly a month since my last confession.

Thank you all for both your kind words on my post about my Shelbs and for your love and cyber applause for our engagement. 

I have some good news and some bad news.  First the bad.  Shelby hasn't come back to life.  Although I have had some crAZYYYY dreams about that very thing.  And second, the good news.  We are STILL engaged!

Whew. 

Now.  Somethings we should also talk about. 

The Most Exciting Part of My Journey is Happening Right Now

Who would have thought that 4.5 years after lapband I would still be finding and discovering new and exciting things tied to weight loss and my body?  Oh man.  I just had a BRILLIANT idea.  Have you guys seen those candles that have a ring buried down deep in the wax, and you burn the candle to get the ring which may, or may not be, a giant piece of crap?  What if they buried a jewel in our fat pre-surgery and then as the fat melted away (candle reference...you see how I just did that), we would be closer and closer to getting the ring...until one day we just POP it out...like a little pimple...but with a diamond or opal in it instead of puss.

I know.  Puss is a disgusting word.

But seriously.

Think about it.

Anyways, back to what I was originally talking about.  Just to recap, at the beginning of March I decided to recommit to healthier eating, more cardio, less processed food, and just DOING BETTER overall.  Since then, I have lost 35 pounds.  And I think that these last 35 pounds have been the proudest l.b's of all my 170 pounds lost.  Let me tell you why.

I have worked very hard for each and every one of those pounds over the last several months.  My lapband had very little to do with the loss.  And that's not to say the pounds that I lost over the first 4 years I didn't have to work for, because I absolutely did...but these last ones were sweat and tears and making real changes.  At first, I didn't know how I was going to work out more...or how I was going to work out any differently than I already was.  But adding straight cardio seemed to be the only answer.  I started doing the ARC (like the elliptical) for 60 minutes a day in addition to circuit, bootcamp, or tough mudder training).  I started running 3-5 miles, at least 3 times a week.  I was, and I am still, doing two-a-days.  I wake up around 440am, go to Planet Fitness, do at least 3 miles and then do targeted weight lifting.  Then I do a class at work, either circuit or bootcamp).  Every once in awhile I did 3 workouts a day...but that was really to support my friends or coworkers that needed a workout buddy.

On Monday I weighed in at 158.

I have never weighed 150-anything. 

The amazing things, the nonscale victories that are new to me:

1.  Running is so much easier 30-35 pounds lighter.  I am not sure if I am much faster (I am doing a real 5k tomorrow so I will see what I can pull out under pressure), but my knees never bother me when I am running.  Before, my right knee would twinge most of the time.

2.  Seeing my muscles and definition gets me a little excited.  Seriously.  Sometimes when I am working out at the gym and looking in the mirror, I wanna make out with myself.  Just a little.  Light petting.  All above the waist.  But the loss of some of my insulation that covered my muscles that were already there, combined with really focusing on building them up a little more, has gave way to a body I really like. 

3.  When I am wearing clothes.  I feel amazing.  I am proud of myself.  I feel like I look healthy and fit.  My muffin top is gone, my stomach is flat, my ass is round...and even my damn thighs...the last thing to go and the parts of my body that want to hang on to all the fat possible...have slimmed up.  Now I should point out that I said when I am wearing CLOTHES I feel amazing.  Naked is another story.  Naked I still hate certain parts of my body.  There are moments when I catch a glimpse of my back and see the muscle definition...and I smile.  Or when I turn sideways and see how small my waist is and how my lower back curves so nicely into my butt...but the lower stomach skin, my saggy boobs, the insides of my thighs, and my bat wings haunt me.  They make me so so sad.  And I know that stomping around or dwelling on them for long will not magically fix them.  AND I know I can't really say "BUT IT'S NOT FAIR!  It's not fair that I work so hard and still look like a melted candle"...because it is fair.  Because I made some very poor choices for about 3 decades.  And I can fix some of it with plastic surgery I suppose. I finally got the nerve up to send an email to request a boob lift consultation.  They haven't emailed me back.  It's been about a month.  I am working on getting the lady balls to actually call them.  I think I am just scared that they will cost to much, or that they will need to lift AND do implants and then I will have huge unnatural knockers....I am scared to get my hopes up that there IS hope...and then not be able to do it.  And although I never thought I would do a tummy tuck, I might some day.  I wear bikini's all the time, and I would just love for the skin not to be there.  As for the inner thighs, I don't think I would ever be able to pay or want to go through a lower body lift.  Short shorts just may never be able to be in my future.  I think I can deal with that.

Also coming to visit lately is my port.

This was about 10 pounds ago, and of course my port baby has been poking out for years.  But now it's super noticeable in most of the shirts I wear.  At work, one of my coworkers said the other day "What is THAT" as I was walking down the hallway.  Heather is concerned and wants me to talk to Dr. Friedman about switching it out for the low profile port.  I probably will do that sometime I guess.  Just see what my options are.  It bruises every once in a while, and we are signed up for every mud run in the southern United States, so scaling walls or climbing things may be a bad idea with port baby sticking out.

 

I also have no pants that fit.  Work pants I mean.  Not one pair.  Which is GREAT, but also sucks.  I bought a pair of black banana republic slacks and in one week...too big.  Which is another crazy thing about being this size and weight.  Remember when it took 40 pounds to lose a size?  Now I can lose a size in about 8 pounds.  I am a size 8 now for the most part, although I do have jeans in size 10 and even a size 12 that I can still wear. 

 

I have more pictures and more news to share, but I better get ready for work!  Happy Friday friends!  Let the weekend begin!

 

xoxox