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Remember that leap your heart made when a friend knocked on your door and asked your mom if you could play?
Please oh please oh please say yes, mom, say yes…
You bolted out that door and ran from all the adults as fast as your Keds would carry you.
Those words, “Come play,” still makes my heart leap.

I’ve decided not to age. Technically, we age from the moment we’re born. Technically, parts of our body peak at 30. But I’m not talking technically. I just don’t identify with this whole aging thing. It’s like death. Who gets death? Technically we die. Our pets, our loved ones, apple trees and hummingbirds, right whales and honeybees. We die. But do we? We fight death literally and metaphorically. Our brains, our hearts don’t know how to reconcile with this concept. It never feels right, does it?

My thought is because we don’t die. We transcend.
Various religions have given names to this basic belief. Eternity. Heaven. Hell. Reincarnation. Even if you say you don’t believe anything about the afterlife. Even if you say we become dirt or stardust which is still a form of transcendence we believe that something of our souls, for lack of a better word, lives on.

With that thought I whip back around to the title. If we have such a hard time with death then doesn’t it make sense that aging, just foreplay to death, doesn’t sit well either?

I know, I know. Aging isn’t all bad you say. You are rocking your new shock of white hair. You kind of like stepping out of the sexy game and wearing comfortable clothes and not worrying about the priss and preen that goes with attracting a mate. You love being retired and not feeling the pressure of getting out there every day. You argue that these are the perks of aging that come with the not so great perks of bad knees, high cholesterol and actually contemplating dentures.

Before I sound uncompassionate let me say that I know too well what it’s like to be a caregiver, to grieve, to take a sharp blow so hard that no breath comes, to be so relieved that a year that held so much pain is over even though I don’t even know or care what comes next. Life can be too full of all things shitty. That’s why I’ve decided to live with gusto whenever I can. Not because I’m oblivious to sorrow but because I am acutely aware.

Now that I’ve posted my disclaimer let’s get back to the fun stuff.
So instead of aging this is what I plan on doing for the next, oh, 30-50 years:

Play.
Be downright silly.
Laugh until I snort.
Goof off and waste loads of time navel gazing or the equivalent.
Nap.
Flirt.
Create.
Lighten my load–physically and emotionally grow lighter.

How?
By playing first of all.
By choosing to strip my backpack of hurts I’ve been nursing like sucking like crazy to get one more drop out of a dried up teat. By saying lots of nos and no thank yous–not for me, by saying big, crazy risk-taking yeses, by not doing a damn thing I don’t want to do and realizing it’s damn near impossible to do anything I don’t want to do. That means owning some scary shit. Then laughing at my own hand-made messes.

By standing in my own life and getting out of everyone else’s. Boy is this one tough. It’s a lot like hide-and-seek and running back to home base again and again.

By not taking myself, my darkness, my ugliness, my blinding ambitions, my tail-chasing avoidance laden quests, too serious.

Serious is too f*ing serious. (I love to curse folks, so I just might have to let loose and be my true self a little more often.

I just don’t give a shit about all the rest.
Arguing exhausts me.
I don’t give a rip about religion or politics or whatever else folks post on the almighty Facebook just to get a rouse out of everybody else. Vote. Sign a petition. Serve soup at a shelter. DO something with those beliefs and respect everyone else’s rights to think for themselves.

I’m going to have to feel my way through this growing younger thing.
Today, I’m going to doodle.
Swing so high my feet go over the lake behind my house.
Pull weeds.
Go to the beach and the pool with my granddaughter.
Make love to my husband (check on that one–accomplished that by 7am!….sorry if that’s a TMI but let’s get real!)
Eat watermelon.
Do some damn good writing (which I hope I am accomplishing right now.
Nap. It’s summertime people. Naps are mandatory.
Make up stories about fairies.
Eat food grown in dirt. If I’m going to eventually get back to motha-earth I might as well eat the rainbow and swallow a few dirt-crumbs along the way.
Then I’m going to the gym tonight and kill it on some weights. Sweat like crazy. Listen to some Kanye–nothing like gritty music to get you pumped.
Then I’m going to play with glow in the dark bubbles as the stars come out and at last fall into my hubby’s arms.

Good life.
Today is a play day.
I hope (and plan) to play my way through this life.
I will be the silly, goofy, crazy hat dancing in the streets 90 year old–and every day until I get there.

I have one question for you…Wanna play?

Wanna play?

Wanna play?

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Seth Rogen spoke to the Senate committee on behalf of the over seven million Americans who suffer with Alzheimer’s–five times as many people who suffer from AIDS in America–and yet all but two senators left. Why? Maybe they stepped out because Seth is perceived as a celebrity, but he wasn’t there for that reason. He spoke out for Alzheimer’s because this disease has hit his  family–his mother-in-law.
Maybe the problem is that Alzheimer’s isn’t sexy. It’s scary to most people. It turns our loved ones into strangers. It’s unpredictable. Even former President Regan was hidden away. We didn’t want  to see him “like that,” all undignified.

I too, have seen Alzheimer’s up close and intensely personal. It scared me, too, I won’t deny. But then I just got used to it. Not that it got any easier–the outbursts, the vacant eyes, the chaos and destruction that can ensue, the absolutely frustrating issues with the medical community and their lack of understanding what families are facing, the lack of support that leaves caregivers so often alone physically and financially as they try to do more than is humanly possible, the deep ache of losing a loved one drop by drop and not being able to comfort them because this disease won’t let you in…I know it well. My adoptive mother, who had Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s, spent her last almost two years in our home and I held her as she left this  earth.

So Seth,thank you.

Thank you for your crass humor that gives us permission to laugh at ourselves.

Thank you for daring to call the senators out and ask why they left, why this didn’t seem important enough to stick around for–even if they didn’t agree with the message or the messenger it would seem that there shouldn’t be Senate hearings if nobody is going to listen.

Thank you, Seth. I know you’re just an actor, that you get paid to entertain, but for one day you hoped to use your celebrity-dom to talk about  something that a wholelotta us are facing in our families, with our mothers, mother-in-laws, grandparents, spouses and partners. I say we get used to messy. We educate others by sharing the nitty gritty. We speak out and speak out some more. We help each other through this.

Maybe you did more good because they did not listen–that it made the news in a big way–so now more people are listening.

You done good, Seth Rogen. You done good.

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/video/seth-rogans-impassioned-funny-plea-alzheimers-awareness-22690205

 

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Do we always get along? Hell, no! That’s what I wrote in a recent article that’s now featured on The Shriver Report.org. (http://shriverreport.org/mothering-mother-caregiving-dementia-carol-odell/) People tend to romanticize caregiving–people who aren’t in it, or who haven’t been in it for very long. It’s the difference in making a movie such as Black Hawk Down compared to actually being in a real time war–bullets, IED’s and raining shrapnel down on your head. Caregiving days aren’t filled with marshmallows and clouds (all fluff). While there are tender moments when you can hear the angels sing, when you and your loved one have a very real and touching moment–these are rare because face it–relationships are, for the most part, messy.

Caregiving is part one part grit and two parts guts, and if you’ve always had issues with confrontation, then guess what? Here’s your own personal scavenger hunt because you will confront everybody from your sister who doesn’t want to pitch in–time or money-wise, to the home health aide who grabs your mom’s arm just a little too rough, and onto the CNA who whams your mother’s leg into a metal part of the underside of the bed and cuts her leg on the day of her discharge…and then tells you that you’ll have to go back to the ER (with its two hour wait and enough flu germs to warrant a quarantine) in order to see if her leg is broke (that really happened to a mother of a friend of mine).

Women are still, the primary family caregiver. Not that there aren’t amazing men out there–spouses, sons, brothers who are stepping up and never thought to do anything other than care for their loved ones. I get to meet these guys and let me tell you, they’re sexy. Nothing is more attractive than a good man who has integrity and heart, and I ought to know a thing or two about this because I happened to be married to one. Still, when it comes to sheer numbers, women take on the brunt of the caregiving experience. They’re single, divorced, dealing with their own health issues, or depression, working, raising kids and grandkids, and on top of all that–they’re caring for a parent, and sometimes two.

Stats on Women as Caregivers from the Family Caregiver Alliance/National Center on Caregiving:

Estimates of the percentage of family or informal caregivers who are women range from 59% to 75%.6, 7


The average caregiver is age 46, female, married and working outside the home earning an annual income of $35,000.8


Although men also provide assistance, female caregivers may spend as much as 50% more time providing care than male caregivers.9

When I said, “Hell yes, to caring for my mom,” I didn’t mean that caregivers have to go it alone–nor should they. Caregiving is a team sport. You simply CAN’T meet all of your loved one’s needs. You can’t. They need to be surrounded by a community. You can’t begin to meet their physical and relationship needs, and in fact, you do a great disservice to you both by not opening up your heart and our home to others. Sometimes it’s simply because it’s a bruise to our ego to admit we can’t do it all, and other times we don’t even know where to begin to ask for help. It’s also true that you or your loved one may not find a good fit right away. Whether you call a local church and ask for a volunteer, call your local senior center or your local/regional Council on Aging to find out what resources are available, the key is to not give up.

Caring for my mom would eventually include my family–husband, daughters, her friends (one who graciously came down so that my family could slip away for a weekend), relatives who called and offered prayers and encouragement, home health aides, and eventually the good folks (chaplin, nurse, home care aides, coordinator, etc.) at Community Hospice of Northeast Florida. It took all of us–and it gave us purpose and a common connection. Saying “Yes” to caregiving also means saying “Yes” to the circle of care you and your loved one needs.

The Shriver Report.org. The Shriver Report.org is launching a site for women, by women (mostly) talking about subjects that matter–to us.

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I have several friends who have recently loss their spouses or a parent, and at the end of an oftentimes long, exhausting, and heartbreaking journey, they find themselves stepping into the role of a caregiver once again. Most of us have more than one parent. We have in-laws. We have other family members who a struggling with everything from cancer to mental illness–and disease and the aging process doesn’t care whether you feel like caregiving. It doesn’t take into account that you just spent the last two years in and out of hospitals, rehab, physical therapy and all the less than fun but necessary activities that engulf your life. Caregiving can show up in your life (and probably will) at the most inopportune time.

What do you do?
Do you say no to a loved one who may have little, if any, options? Do you (can you) say, “no thanks,” I’m still grieving/need to take care of my own health/financial needs right now/I’m an completely bone dry and have nothing to give???

No. You probably don’t say, “Caregiving again? I’ll pass.”
Before you jump into caregiving again headfirst, I ask you to take a deep breath.
Now, plan.
You’ve learned a thing or two.
You know all too well just how sucked in you’re about to be.
You know all too well the wild world of prescription screw-ups, back-to-back doctor visits, 2am ER stints, botched lab results, infuriating insurance issues, and the dreaded orange vinyl chair hospital nights that somehow lead to hospital weeks.
So use what you know.
You might need to and want to say yes, but do you have to say yes to everything?
Do you have to move in/or they move in with you?
Are you prone to ignoring your own health/financial/relationship needs?
Are you afraid of what’s going to happen to you and your life if caregiving takes yet two, three more years of your life?

Don’t get me wrong–I am a 100% advocate of caring for our loved ones.
I firmly believe that family (for the most part–there are always exceptions) should care for family and then that care ripples out from there–church, friends, extended family members, hired or volunteer care) as needed. I ache at the thought of family members who simply can’t be bothered to miss a day of work, or can’t give up a weekend to make sure that their loved one’s legitimate needs are met. As a caregiver inspirational blogger and speaker I’ve heard lots of folks who have sisters/brothers adult children and others who refuse to contribute to family care, but I also see folks who give too much, who never say no, not even to a demanding, dramatic person who expects to be the center of everyone’s universe.

What I’m speaking of is to glean from the wisdom that comes by experience.
Reflect back on your previous caregiving time.
When did you give too much?
When did you ignore your own health issues, relationship or career issues?
Does that continue to effect your life?
Do you have a plan for meeting your own needs while caring for others?
Are there things/people you lost you can’t get back?
Did you care-give at times when it wasn’t truly needed to the extent that you gave?
Are you now able to speak up when you need to?
Can you step back and look at the whole picture–and count “you” into the equation?
Can you say no when you need to and not fall into a quagmire of guilt?

Honestly, being a caregiver the second time around can be a good thing.
How, you ask?
You’re stronger.
You’re not flung here and there by drama and trauma.
You don’t think doctors and medical personnel are demi-gods that can never be wrong and should never be confronted or disagreed with.
You know that you have to step back when you feel so drained that resentment, anger, and exhaustion threaten to strip you of all reason and ability to care for anyone, particularly, yourself.

Caregiving the second time comes with the quiet realization that (in some situations) your loved one will die.
It’s tough to say that word, die, but that’s what we do. All of us. Someday.
So, caregiving…again, means that you’re not so scared.
You make this time mean something.
You can’t keep them alive, you know that this time, but you can make life sweet.
You can provide companionship.
You can be their advocate, their voice.
You can honor their wishes.
You can make sure they get the pain medications they need.
You can be present when it’s time.

I wish, for you, that if you’re just getting out of a caregiving situation, that you would have a break. That you’d get to attend to your own life for a little while–and even have some fun–but we don’t always get to decide when caregiving will circle back around. But I do know that you have changed–so trust that you will know what to do.

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In Marianne Williamson’s book, Divine Compensation, the author talks about a time when she lost a large sum of money because she didn’t properly market a presentation that meant a great deal to her. Crying in her father’s arms she told him that she’d lost $10,000, and she muttered how she was ever going to recover financially or reputation wise from this catastrophe. He just smiled and told her to say, “It’s okay. I can absorb the loss.” That got me thinking about a different kind of loss. The loss we endure when a loved one dies.

It hurts. It sends us reeling with pain, regret, guilt, and plain ole’ missing someone so dear to us. Sometimes the death of our loved one seems so unfair. The death of a child is beyond my ability to even comprehend. We lose loved ones in car accidents, too soon to cancer, and sadly, to suicide. Such losses seem truly unbearable. How do we even begin to absorb a tremendous loss?

First, there’s no right–or wrong–way to grieve.
It just is. I’m not about to give a lesson on grieving. It’s personal. It’s primal. And all I can say is that your body and spirit probably know how you need to do it–and it might take longer than you think, and it will probably take you to some pretty dark nights of the soul.

What is clean pain?
Clean pain, according to the Association of Contextual Behavioral Science, is when we accept pain. We don’t try to make it more–or less–than it is. We acknowledge it. We let it take us. We know that we will be in pain for a time. But we also expect the pain to subside. We don’t add to it–by fighting it, by denying it, by blaming or demanding or asking “Why me” a thousand times. We choose not to dwell on it, growing more and more anxious, creating scenarios that may never happen. We simply know that we are of this earth and that there will inevitably be times of physical and/or emotional pain. In other words…we absorb it. Let it in but see our souls as a sieve. The excess pain that cannot be taken in will be sifted and allowed to leave.

It’s easier to have clean pain when death is expected. I grieved my mother’s diminishing life and her forthcoming death long before it got here. She was 92. She had Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s and heart disease. I did not wrestle with the fact that it was her time to go. I tried to make her last months comfortable and meaningful. I stood as they wheeled my mother out of our home. I had spent the last three weeks by her side assisting her as she passed over. It was grueling. It was not easy by any means. But it was right. I stood in the driveway and watched them lift the gurney into the Hearst. I watched as the taillights left my view. I bundled her sheets and walked to the garbage. Then I walked down to the river. I cried and I breathed. My last parent was gone. Not only did I grieve her. I grieved the shutting of this door. The next few months felt as if I had been charred in a great fire. I felt antsy and useless. I floundered and waited for hope, for life, for meaning to return.

As far as clean or dirty pain. My mother’s passing was clean. And since that time I’ve lost others I love. It’s not always a clean pain, but at least I am aware that that is what I choose. Not to fight with death. To absorb the loss. My heart and mind is boggled at times. I can’t fall into the quagmire of the whys. There is no why that will make sense to a hurting, grieving, all encompassing loss.

But I do know that the more I allow, the more I absorb the losses that come my way, and the more that I (to quote Byron Katie) “love what is,” the more at peace I am.

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We don’t tend to talk about our love lives and caregiving in the same conversation. Why? Does sex go out the “caregiving window?” Do you stop desiring your partner when you enter into the caregiving role? Many do. It’s not that we don’t still love each other. We may recommit our hearts  and lives even more when our loved one needs us–but needing and wanting are two different animals and you don’t necessarily have to stop being a sexual creature just because you’ve aged, have a disease, or find yourself caring for someone.

I recently watched this AMAZING TED video titled, “The Secret to Desire in a Long-Term Relationship.” presented by Ms. Peres bas traveled the world studying erotic intelligence. Ms. Perel talks about the dilemma modern couples face–marrying for love (as opposed to a mere societal contract) and living a very long time together–all while supposedly enjoying security as well as hot sex.

There is no caretaking in desire. Wanting is desire. Neediness is not attractive. Ms. Perel reminds us that anything that reminds us of parenting i.e. (taking care of someone) is a turn-off, as it should be. We need our parents. We want (or desire) our mates.

What’s a caregiver to do?

Nothing saps your desire as much as exhaustion and worry, sleep deprivation, a counter lined with pills, a hospital bed in the middle of the living room, care assistants traipsing in and our of our houses, or a long stint in rehab. We think that sex has to take the back seat when someone is sick, aging, or has entered into the dying process.

But it’s part of who we are. Sex is mystical. It’s a binding agent in our relationships. It’s a way to express not only joy and playfulness, but it’s also a healing force–physically and emotionally.

I faced this issue (sort of) while caring for my mother who was living with us (hubby, kids, and me). She needed 24/7 care for Parkinson’s, heart disease and dementia. She was demanding (to say the least), fearful, as well as in need of real hands-on care. Not exactly the ingredients needed to get in the  mood. I found myself compartmentalizing who I was at any given moment. I’d slip out of caregiving mode and into mothering mode when one of my children needed me to help them study for a big test, or to take photos of them before they went on a special date. I’d slip off that role and step into being my husband’s lover as I slid the bathroom door shut, turned on some sultry music and stepped into the shower for a few minutes of “alone time.” Twenty minutes later and I’m back in the kitchen, dressed, and cutting my mother’s pills up for the week.

I had to learn how to shut down one part of me and slip on another.

What made that challenging was stepping out of the lingering emotions–resentment (can’t I just have 30 minutes to myself?) guilt (I know she needs me, but my girls need me, too), worry (I’m so afraid they’re going to put her back in the hospital–and they’re going to push for exploratory surgery and not only will that not fix anything, but there goes my life for how many weeks!)

How do you still tap into your love life even while caregiving?

Here’s a few things I learned:

  • Stop trying to be everything to everybody. It’s impossible. There will be gaping holes I can’t ever fill.
  • Decide not to always be available. Shut the door. Go to my room. Shut the door. Lock it if I have to.
  • Time for me–first. I learned to not bolt out of the bedroom in the morning. If my family made it through the night (or even part of the night, in my mom’s case), then they could go 30 more minutes without me. Having time to shower, dress, journal or stretch before I hit the caregiving concrete really helped me separate them–from me.
  • Don’t get lazy. Kiss good morning or good bye. Say thank you. Make the effort to smile. Learn to be a good conversationalist. Sit next to each other on the couch instead your own recliners. Spritz on his favorite perfume–not because you’re  going somewhere–just because he likes it.
  • Create sexy moments–and a moment may be all there is. Duck into the pantry for a steamy kiss, grab his butt while he’s in the fridge, flirt by text, tousle his hair at the breakfast table. You may not have the time or energy to do any more than that–but “that” can be really good.
  • Slip in and out of roles–as I mentioned above, turn off–and on–who you are. Do this for yourself. Learn to turn OFF caregiving. Go back, just for a few moments, just to be their daughter, or wife.
  • Be playful. Desire is loose. It thrives on spontaneity. So if you feel yourself always clenching, always on alert, stop. Do some stretches. Visualize your favorite memories–of a perfect spot on a beach, of a time when you two felt the magic. Put on some music. Smile, even if you have to take it. Recognize when you’re being too serious for your own good–and figure out how to get back to some of that joy and ease.
  • Ask for what you need. Ask him to rub your shoulders. Ask if he’d go for a five minute walk with you. Ask if he’d hold you when you’re feeling sad or vulnerable. Use your words and believe that you deserve all good things.
  • Whether you have someone in your life right now or not–make the time and space to nurture your own sensuality.  Figure out what that means to you, but bottom line is  to make time for you, make space for just you, give yourself permission to give yourself pleasure (I’ll leave that up for interpretation) whether that’s sexual in nature or involves a few minutes alone with a Dove chocolate bar while listening to Andre Bochelli serenade you in the laundry room.

How does nurturing your love life make you a better caregiver?

It fills up the well of your soul.

It gets us in touch with our physical and soul-full selves.

It infuses us for energy, joy, and even relaxation.

It reminds us we are indeed, still alive.

I hope you’ll be brave enough to enter into this conversation–with yourself first, with your partner, and I’d love it if you’d leave a comment!

It’s time we started talking about what we long for…and a warm, fun, play-filled, healing, tender or rompous (yes, I made up that word) love life is just the beginning…

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Let’s face it, most days a caregiver’s positive outlook sags a bit. Monotony, worry, and sleep deprivation doesn’t exactly add up to being “Miss Perky.”  One thing I can say for my mother is that she had a healthy dose of self-esteem, and that has a way of rubbing off on folks, me included. She even had a theme song-“I love me, I love me, I’m wild about myself…”

She sang those lines to me all my life, and she’d always smile at her own cuteness after. I kinda figured she made up those lines, seems like something she’d do, but come to find out–she didn’t. It’s a real song. I can’t quite figure out who wrote it–the internet trail is hard to follow. I think Tiny Tim sang it in the 60s, but the recording I found is from the 40s. That’s probably when my mother heard it–and even after dementia took most of her memories, this little song stayed put.  And even though she eventually forgot how to sing I now carry this tune forward. My children know it well and now I have a whole new generation to sing it to–three granddaughters who will, if I have anything to contribute, have rock solid great self-esteems.

See, my mother had a whole life way before I ever got there. Most children, even adult children forget that. She was 54 when she adopted me. She had grown up, fallen in love, got married, had her first (secretary), second (executive secretary) and third job (minister), and she had survived the  depression, World War II, health scares,and  her mother’s death–all before 1965, when she became my mama.

So, I find out that this little ditty was recorded in 1940 by , and it regales to love of self. Apparently  this isn’t a new concept, but it’s an important one. My mother had lots of faults (don’t we all?) but being negative, depressed, or ever being called shy or quiet wouldn’t make her list. She was tall and loud, opinionated, and funny. Thank goodness for funny, because funny kept me from losing it on her more than once!

So if you’re caregiving a bigger than life character, sit back and enjoy this song–and if you just need a pick-me-up and good dose of self-love, you’re in for treat.

“I LOVE ME”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DsSQFVRrTc

I’ve posted the words, which are beyond adorable. It’ll perk up what sags:)

When people write their songs of love they write of one another
It’s always sis, or ma, or pa, or sweetheart, wife, or brother
But love songs that they’ve aimed at me have all gone on the shelf
I don’t think that it’s fair, so now I’ll write one for myself.

I love me, I love me, I love myself to death
I love me, I love me, till I’m all out of breath
I stop at every slot machine that I should chance to pass
And give myself a hug and squeeze as I look in the glass!
Oh, I love me, I love me, I’m wild about sweet me
I love me, only me, so I’m content you see,
I like myself with such delight
I take me right straight home each night
And sleep with me till broad day light
I’m wild about myself.
I love me, I love me, my birthday’s once a year
I love me, Only me, and when my birthday’s near
I go with me and buy myself some gifts to put away
Then I surprise myself with them when I wakes up that day!
I love me, I love me, I’ll marry me some day
Right away, Saturday, I’ll give me all my pay
With me I like to make a date
To meet myself at half-past eight
If I’m not there I never wait
I’m wild about myself.

I know a girl who has the boys proposing by the dozen
Among her lists are rich and poor and even one lone cousin
But when she speaks of love to me I treat her with disdain
I loudly shout, “There’s someone else!”
And then this wild refrain:

Oh I love me, I love me, and every place I go
I love me, I love me, and at the movie show
I take myself right by the arm and push me through the crowd
And listen to myself repeat the titles right out loud.
I love me, I love me, I love to squeeze my hand
I love me, I love me, It always feels so grand
With me I get right in my tub
I let myself give me a rub
Oh how I love to feel me scrub
I’m wild about myself.

I love me, I love me, I’m wild about myself
I love me, I love me, my picture’s on my shelf.
You may not think I look so good, but me thinks I’m divine
It’s grand when I look in my eyes and know I’m mine, all mine!
I love me, I love me, and my love doesn’t bore
Day by day in every way I love me more and more.
I take me to a quiet place
I put my arm around my waist…
If me gets fresh I slap my face!
I’m wild about myself.

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