The day has come. The day I thought that I, for whatever reason, would be lucky enough to avoid. That’s right…my first belly stretch marks appeared, seemingly overnight. This was momentous. A swift kick in the butt (or belly even) to reengage me with the reality that I am simply no longer in control. I have spent months rubbing the stretch mark lotions into my belly, TWICE a day! Even so, I must have hit the tipping point where my magic lotions are no longer more powerful than the growth of the childbeast inside of me.
And so it happened, I looked in the mirror and saw it, three little lines on the underside of my belly. I panicked, my husband laughed, my mom reassured me, and I became a ridiculous picture of anxiety. There is no turning back now, 10 more weeks until our due date, and I am surely going to keep on expanding.
Ode to my belly of past:
Oh smooth belly, how I will miss you. You served us well, and the sacrifices you are now making will never be forgotten or taken for granted. You have carried a child who has tested your strength and elasticity. You have been kicked from the inside, stretched out, and your belly button is no longer hidden but revealed to the world. I thank you for setting your pride aside, and for hanging in there for 30 weeks as we, together, have grown. Be strong in this final stretch, we are almost there. I promise you one day, I will again do sit ups, eat wisely, and return you to near-original condition. Thank you.
End of ode.
I’m sorry you had to witness that. I blame it on the hormones.
And i'll have you know, those weren't my first stretch marks, just my first belly ones. Where else have I, as a pregnant woman, grown so much as to have experienced stretch marks? My boobs. That’s right, they were the first thing to grow and become an anatomical miracle. The stretch marks appeared before I knew what was happening and the magic lotions simply came to late. They are now the signs of my true womanhood, yes each and every stretch marks a day, week, or month that has passed where my boobs have continued to grow. A reminder of what is to come and what I have been through. My war stories even. And still, I look to the end and cannot wait for our medal of honor to arrive, the little dude that will somehow find his way out of my you-know-what and make all of the stretch marks, sickness, and hormones worth it.
Complaints these are not, realizations they are.
1. I am no longer in control of my body
2. Some pretty unexplainable things are happening and it still freaks me out
3. A baby will, very soon, be moving from my insides to the outside
4. I cant sweat the small stuff, but I can cry over it
5. The stomach growls and grumbles are not my child speaking to me
This is what keeps me going.