Our Scarlet Letters

I can remember the first time I found a stretch mark on my hip. I honestly cannot remember when it was, I think I was in my late teens. I'm not sure. But I remember the horror I felt. The gasp and the shock. Of course it was little and I don't remember ever seeing that particular stretch mark again. Now I'm pretty sure it'd be covered up by the 3 dozen others anyways.

Stretch marks were honestly one of my biggest fears going into pregnancy. I have never scarred easily. In fact I hardly have any scars. One where I was bitten by a brown recluse on my leg and one where I almost cut my toe off on a nail. And a chicken pox scar on my forehead. Otherwise I've just got a lot of freckles. But I have seen women at the pool with these angry red stretch marks up their sides and across their tummies and was horrified at the notion that my tummy would look like that. So when I found out I was pregnant I scoured the internet for some guaranteed way to prevent them. Of course, there isn't one. Lots of empty promises and paid advertisements. But nothing guaranteed. So I went with cocoa butter and crossed my fingers.

I think I was about 8 months along when nearly overnight I developed a dozen stretch marks. I really appreciated it when my OB pointed out the stretch marks at my next check-up. If looks could kill that man would probably be six feet under right now. After I had Evie it seemed like my stretch marks multiplied. My deflated beach ball belly was covered in a crisscrossing of angry red, pale white and light brown stretch marks from hip to hip. I was disgusted. I looked in the mirror at my body and felt nothing but despair. The vibrant beauty which I saw when my body was a vessel for a new life was gone. In its place was exhaustion, saggy skin, and a lot of extra weight, which evidently does NOT disappear overnight.

Stretch marks to me were like a scarlet letter. A badge of shame. Marks of embarrassment and time misspent.  I wanted them all to just disappear...ASAP. I hated them. I was careful to make sure and wear shirts that had no chance of accidentally riding up a little. I was absolutely mortified at the idea of anyone seeing them. I didn't even want my husband to see them. I would carefully avoid looking at my stomach when I changed or showered. I absolutely hated the way they looked.

I am now four months post baby #2 and my perspective is dramatically different on the whole stretch mark thing. For one, most of my stretch marks have faded. I probably have half a dozen on my hips and a few across my stomach. Not too bad. Maybe in another year or so the rest of my stomach won't be quite so...icky. But maybe it will. Whatever. I did have two babies in two years. 18 months pregnant with about 8 months off...that can be pretty hard on ya. But come what may. Because honestly, I will be okay.

You know why I'll be okay?

My stretch marks aren't badges of shame. My body did a wonderful, incredible thing...TWICE. It grew life. Beautiful, miraculous life. And I know it sounds kinda hokey but I'm proud of the little people I created. They are beautiful little girls. And it's amazing to think about what all happens during pregnancy. How two microscopic cells grew into these little people. With likes and dislikes, personalities and temperaments, my husband's eyes and my curly hair. Anyone who doesn't believe in God must never have spent time around children. But I'm pretty happy with those little people. So I don't really feel like the stretch marks are something I should be ashamed of. So many women are so ashamed of their bodies. For some reason the entire female population needs to be a size 0 with flawless skin, a flat tummy and a cute little butt. But we don't! It's a ridiculous aspiration.

And for those who are dealing with those icky stretch marks and a less than perfect tummy, I say be thankful. There are so many women who aren't lucky enough to get pregnant. Or who may have been able to get pregnant but weren't able to carry their baby to term. Those dimpled marks and streaks are proof of the 9 months I dedicated my body to another person, to another life. Proof of one of the smallest of sacrifices I could make for my children. In the grand scheme of things, I think any good mother would give up far more than her pre-baby body for her children. I'm not saying a good mother doesn't still regularly MISS that pre-baby body. I wouldn't complain about having both my babies and my body. But if it comes down to choosing, I am definitely choosing the babies. I will take stretch marks and then some, whatever I have to. Because those kids mean far more to me than anything else.