bump #27: the cure

First off, "the cure" is in no way a reference to Robert Smith and that fabulous 80's band of his. {random trivia: my favorite song of all time is "just like heaven" by the cure} And to all my fellow baby bump seekers, I apologize if you were mislead... I have not found the cure to our present situation, you know, beyond triple-scoop ice cream cones and sephora.com.

The cure that I am speaking of has to do with this:
 

And now I get to wait around for a few days to put my house back together until the paint "cures."
Because after all my reading (ok, so I merely scanned the back label of the can of paint) I learned that

"The paint will not achieve its full strength until it is completely cured...

which is the point at which the paint is as tough and durable as it will get."

This may be the paint fume inhalation talking, but I learned a few things from my painting adventure.

1. I will not be pursuing a career in painting. {Earth-shattering revelation}

This one was easy to come to terms with, mostly because I can't rock the over-alls

that painters are required to wear. No biggie.

2. It takes a really flipping long time for paint to dry

and now I have to wait for it to cure too?!

This is not good for my impatience condition!

which leads to the third lesson

3. I am not finished yet.  2 whole days of painting and it still isn't over.

In real life: I am not finished yet. 2 whole years of trying to start a family

and it still hasn't happened.

The paint has not cured yet and neither have I.

Yes, the paint toxins definitely went straight to my brain, but I think there's a point here somewhere.

This furniture painting project did not turn out like I planned. It took way longer, was super messy, and turned my house upside-down. It is going to be a process to get to the "cured stage."

But once I have my shabby chic, fresh and clean living room these few days of waiting for the paint to dry will have been worth it. 

This family planning project has not turned out like I planned with all of the same aforementioned painting hassles and then some, but it is a process and I am not cured yet. Even if/when God leads us to our family (however He chooses to do so) His work curing me will never be done.

But, in all of this, I am so grateful that I am merely the canvas and He is the artist because my skills with a paintbrush are severely lacking!  

Perhaps I need a cure for turning the everyday mundane experience

into a metaphorical rant on infertility!