Or blotchy, snarly, exhaustion.
There’s been a smattering of posts around revealing photos of much beloved bloggers before they’ve gone through grueling battles with flat irons, mascara wands and spackle trowels (Not to say that any of the ladies linked to below use these devices, or in fact need them, but knowing we’ve all at least dabbled, I figure it’s safe to say.)
I’ll cop to first making a pot of coffee and
taking a first sip ferociously slurping a half cup before snapping the pictures you’ll be seeing. I would have been scared of revealing this, but the truth is, lately the efforts of the morning find themselves in gooey, messy half moons beneath my eyes, either from crying or the third-trimester-hot-flashes-and-oh-my-god-I-am-melting episodes. And the hair? Eesh, the products that a month ago tamed frizzies and eased the absence of a style, well now they seem to transform into a substance akin to epoxy within an hour of going in. Running my fingers through my hair they come away gummy or become stuck and bring tears to my eyes as I try to pull them out of my nest. So, the morning shot, despite a kind of dazed look, I’m ok with it.
Staring down the birth of our third child and advent of my 35th birthday, I actually am feeling pretty damn lucky to look and feel the way I do when I wake up…(After a cup of Peet’s coffee and my morning blog surfing.) So, without firther adieu, me, the way I looked as I typed this post.
This felt a little weak, kind of hiding behind the incredible coffee, letting the incredible Denby mug block my post-dawn visage…so here’s this.