Stretch and the paint job

I have become stretched. Literally and figuratively. My stomach stretches out more than I have ever seen it and I'm not even halfway done. I have to tell myself that this is good, but the little bulimic in me is saying that I look like a cow. Maybe when it comes out a little more and looks more round and pregnant I will appreciate this look more, right now the small pop out looks to me like a beer belly. I'm somewhere in between looking pregnant and fat. I know a lot of women find it rude when people ask about your pregnancy but I really enjoy it. I'm always happy to hear they could tell I have a baby in there and I'm not just a bunch of burgers and fried chicken coagulating.

 I don't normally care about celebrities but now I have a lot of sympathy for Kim Kardashian as I remember all the tabloids blasting her weight while she was pregnant. I thank the universe that there isn't paparazzi following me around snapping unflattering photos and announcing the existence of my "elbow fat" to the whole entire world. On the upside my nails are long, sturdy, and look better than they ever have. 

As far as the figurative stretch I am being pulled so thin between human making, work, moving, and school. I'm considering leaving work since I have a lot of other things to focus on and the extra $150 weekly (my hours have been cut drastically) just isn't worth the mental and physical strain. I try to take care of things as need be, then forget about them when they're not in front of me, and move on with whatever needs to be done next. If I actually saw it all laid out before me on a planner I might cry. Whatever, it could be worse. I could be walking 5 miles through jungle to a river bank infested with piranhas to get myself some drinking water. Women still have children in places like that, I shouldn't be so spoiled to think I deserve an easy ride.  

Today we painted the room that will be ours out at Bruce's house. It was a nice surprise to be able to paint. I read my last blog to Joshua, although he was happy that I could find upsides to this whole moving situation I guess he also felt a little hurt that we should be uprooting instead of nesting. To remedy that, he decided we could paint. The room we are moving into was his childhood bedroom. As a little boy he was given the honor of picking the paint color and carpet color. He chose paint in blue and carpet in green, like the sky and the grass. As adorable as that is, and neat in theory, it was absolutely hideous. So today, we covered it with this lovely shade Valspar Satin: Pillow Talk. 

As the cornflower blue began to disappear under layers of pillow talk I began to think about the future. Will the dusty-gold person I am today be covered by a pale shade of mom? I know kids change everything, and I know I will change but will I still be the same at all? Will I still laugh in delight at gore and horror movies? Can I still wear my weed shirt or will people shake their heads in disgust instead of saying "hey nice shirt!" Will I still feel cool and edgy while I listen to MSI, even if I'm holding butt-ointment  and sporting a vomit stain? To put it short: I like who I am and I am afraid to change. I don't want to start reading dirty romance novels or bore my friends with talk of what my child spit-up that day. Can you be yourself while also being a good mom? I hope so. 

Goodnight!