This belly of mine is marked with scars and I do not like them.
Oh, you may say that such flesh lines are reminders of courage! and bravery! and all that let’s-smile-and-make-this-situation-better-than-it-is poop-on-a-stick stuff that is seemingly uttered with the most vibrance and dogmatism by those whose bellies are (yet) pristine.
Well, thanks for the encouraging perspective, but this three-extra-organs-squished-into-my belly lady is not having it.* Not one bit.
Scars suck. They really do.**
*by organs, I mean kidneys. I do not mean the foot-pedal-and-sixty-one-keys-made-by-Hammond kind of organ. Nope, I am sorry to say that I do not have a Dutch Reformed church service happening in my belly. Well, not that I am aware of anyway.
**well, other than that they are an indication that our bodies (sort of) repair themselves. Wound repair is a rather fascinating thing our bodies do, I think. Science is neat-o.***
***I think God even likes it. Science, that is. I can't speak to whether or not he actually likes the sound of the organ. Or the Dutch language. Or any language for that matter. He's kind of a funny guy.