Look at me! No, don’t look at the lollipop in my hair—look me in my unblinking dilated pupils. This nasty skin rash, which I probably got when Ella stuck her finger in my nose at preschool, is the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Because the doctor hooked me up with a little steroid called prednisone, street name “Pow Pow Juice,” and now I feel invincible. I’m indestructible. I’m a halfway-potty-trained God. And you will never stop pumpin’ those glorious medicine-filled plastic syringes down my throat. Got that, Mommy?

Actually, fill my Bluey water bottle with the stuff. Forget the syringes. I’m macro-dosing this junk. I can get so much done. I built a fort by flipping over the couch. I took apart my Frozen sing-along microphone and put it back together again. I finally got around to glittering the dog. I stabbed my dolly with my fairy wand for looking at me funny. I did a backflip off the table, landed on my head, got up, and just ran outside to do some laps.

Oh, these? They’re twenty-six Play-Doh pizzas. And you will eat them all. Eat them! And you will like them. I’ll be back in ten seconds, and they better be gone. Don’t say, “No, thank you,” to me! No, thank YOU!

Just for that, YOU can clean my room. Clean it. You’re the kid. You go to preschool now, not me. I’m the mom. I am. Me. Call me “Mommy.” Give me the car keys—the real ones. I threw my Fisher-Price car over the fence. I need to get around. I’m your mom I’m your mom I’m your mom I’m Whitney. Put on this pull-up.

No, I don’t have a problem. I can stop whenever I want. Remember when I stopped sucking my thumb? Remember when I stopped spitting up on myself? Remember when I quit Cocomelon because it’s for babies? Yeah, I still watch it sometimes, but that’s because I want to, not because I need to. Nothing wrong with staying in touch with Jay Jay and his giant head.

Hey, Alexa, play “Can’t Feel My Face.” No, play “Bulls on Parade.” No, play “Break Stuff” by Limp Bizkit, the Kidz Bop version.

Throw that thermometer away. I don’t have a fever, and I never will. I feel fine. I already coughed up that LEGO. Speaking of LEGOs, I walked across a big pile barefoot and felt nothing. Actually, I felt alive.

Oh, you’re calling the doctor now? Good. Call her. Tell her how amazing I feel. Tell her my ears feel bigger. Tell her we’re gonna need forty thousand gajillion prednisone refills and another lollipop, because I misplaced the one she gave me. And when you’re done with the doctor, call that dumb babysitter Gabby and tell her to come over. She needs a haircut.