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Writing from my belly.
This is something I’m going to start doing. Why? Because I hate my belly. Like my mom and her mom, I’m tall and thin, with a belly. Any weight I put in first goes to my stomach. So I end up thick through the middle with danglely arms and stick legs. An AT-AT walker kind of woman, except on two legs instead of four.
Can I learn to love my belly and love my mom and grandmom? The bit of revulsion I just felt as I typed that last sentence makes me think, probably not, on an emotional, easy to reach level. Can I learn to love my belly – my full, comforting belly filled with fuel and warming my body like a hearth?
Links of Fondness :
Machine Biscuits :