Honesty, Artistic Interpretation and Beauty

Ready for some honesty? Here it is: ME, with piles of sorted laundry behind me, in one of 2 or 3 shirts that still fit over my belly without me constantly yanking my pants up to cover its watermelon-cold rind...

Yep, that's it, my thermal. And one of two pair of jeans that fit. I have my black yoga pants, but you can only wear those so many days in a row (with three kids making sure they don't stay unblemished) before they are out of commission until laundered. So most of the time I'm in my flannel jammy pants and a long sleeved T (I have confiscated all of Adam's, but if they're mine, once again, three inch strip of 65 degree belly skin above those jammies...). There are times that honesty does NOT feel the least bit beautiful. But so much depends on where your focus lies; not just your photographic focus, but your mental focus.

Right now I am typing through a contraction. Here comes more honesty - turn your head for a line or two if you're squeamish - I lost most/all of my mucus plug by yesterday afternoon, so these contractions that I've been having for weeks are getting stronger and doing their job. I can feel the pull, opening up that door for our precious baby to come through. I went to bed early last night after talking to the midwife and labor team with contractions at 10 minutes apart or so. I slept right through them (except for the ten times to get up and empty my bladder) and I haven't timed them today, but last Friday I was 90% effaced and 3 cm, so we're looking at the next couple of days here as being a new birthday to mark on the calendars. It's exciting at the same time as being frustrating, tiring and emotionally draining. So there's some honesty...

(Insert space, which this stupid blog won't put in for me right now, no matter what I try...)

Now, are you ready for some artistic shine to it? There is beauty to be seen in everything, especially in bringing a new life into this world. And sometimes you just need to get over the every day mundane blah of the end of pregnancy with a little self-love for what you're cookin'. So yesterday I spent some time with my camera and my "fitty." (Pause for another contraction...) After I took the first shot you see above in an attempt to get a real picture of me at the end of this pregnancy, I had to find some beauty in what I KNOW is beautiful - not necessarily the honest, tired portrait of me, but the reality of what my body has been working on for the last 9 months. And these are the shots that me and my 50 mil came up with. I love them.

I love the lighting.



I love the focus.

I love my stomach.

Not necessarily for the old stretch marks from three previous pregnancies, or the visual effect of the network of veins, like the roots of a tree, sprawling all over, but for what those landmarks signify and what they are doing for my fourth little bundle of perfection. I love the artistic interpretation of honesty. The honesty of life is beauty if you know how to look at it and where your focus should lie. So I'm going to go put in a load of laundry so I can labor in my one pair of yoga pants, knock that nasty cob web out of the corner above the computer that I just noticed, put on a cup of chamomile tea and drink it out of my favorite tea cup. It's simple, white, with the word "Enjoy" raised on it's side. It helps keep my frame of mind on the here and now, helps me enjoy frustration, tiredness, and unknowns. It helps me remember my artist brain, which sometimes gets lost in the day to day. And that, honestly, is beautiful.