Lay Down The Boogie And Play That Funky Music Til You Die

My New Years Eve was wild! It was madness! It was insanity! Wanna know what I did? D'ya? D'ya ruuullly wanna know? I held my 10 week old niece for 5 1/2 hours. That is no exaggeration. And I tend to exaggerate for emphasis. This is not one of those times. From 4pm until 9:30pm I walked, I slung, I flung, I rocked, I swayed, I hummed, I cooed, I gooed, I patted, I cried at her cuteness because I'm a sap, I sat, she slept, she woke, she cried, we walked some more. I marveled at the size of her cheeks. All of her weight is in her face. Saying she appears to be storing nuts for the winter is an understatement. They literally block her view. I ate one. I had two fifteen minute breaks while she was firmly attached to her mother's freakishly large breastesses (It's okay to blog that, right? I mean, she's aware of their largeness) and I peed. With my infant fix adequately fulfilled, and my title of most awesomest aunt elevated; I remembered that I am past this stage with my own children and it is my time to party! I drank exactly one whole beer. And one three shots of homemade Baileys which can only be described as heavily spiked melty ice cream. It was DE-LISH! I watched my eleven year old son lead a jam session of "Play That Funky Music White Boy" on his guitar. Oh, white boy was indeed, very funky. Guests were impressed. He was given props. And every single one of my heart cockles was warm. Yes, that is my boy up there getting down with his bad self. At midnight we counted down. There was hugging, kissing, and wishes for a happy new year. Then? Everyone went home. We are old. Today it feels like I spent the entire evening lifting weights. I forgot what a workout carrying a baby is. Did I mention I'm old?