Many of you know Geohde from Mission Impossible, yes? While she’s wicked smart, which is helpful in her profession that she claims is medically related (a “Doctor” I think she calls herself), even though that intelligence has completely failed her when it comes to outsmarting her toddler twin girls and their penchant for pooping willy nilly on her floors. However, aside from the intelligence quota, she is also one of the bravest bloggers I know. Brave? How so, you ask? You didn’t check her link if you are still asking that.
That post about honest journalism I directed you to has inspired me to buck up and show you something that while a bit horrifying to view is actually a part of me I’m secretly very proud. Well, secretly until now.
(Four days post c-section) FRANKEN-ABS!! Run for yer lives!!
(stitches replaced with tape) I have zee Sexxy now, no?
(11 days post c-section) I could almost – almost! – hold a pencil with that front-butt.
Now please understand that this was a year and a half ago. I would like to believe that my pooch has improved a bit. At least I don’t have to worry about small animals using it to protect them from the elements, and the iodine eventually did wear off, and of course the sexy vertical line (linea nigra) is long-gone. What will never disappear are the c-section scars, one on top of the other.
Sparring Partner is adamantly against me ever getting a tattoo, so I’ve declared that my c-section scars are my tattoo. Don’t bother trying to liquor me up in hopes I’ll bare them to you in their current state. I need to perpetuate the fantasy that since the time these photos were taken I am now sporting washboard-flat abs. I can assure you that a dime no longer disappears into the cavernous recesses of my belly button.
How brave are you? What do you got but don’t flaunt? Share!
Punch Drunk 