I’ve been through the presence of many of your kind. My weight fluctuations gave way to both. Stretch marks have tattooed my breasts, arms, thighs, and hips since my preteen years. There has always been a little jiggle all over my body, too.
I’ve allowed others to make me feel like you don’t belong on my body. From my understanding, everyone has stretch marks and a little jiggle. The overt appearance of the squiggly pressed tattoos and elongated skin has been seen as ugly on certain skins of bodies. I always thought my body was one of the disdained kinds, but I’ve accepted I would never get another body. I was never into cosmetic correction, but I caved to concealing your existence until you populated my stomach.
I want to hate you for it. You were nowhere to be found in my first 8 months of pregnancy. Yet somehow I can’t harbor hate because if you didn’t stretch, I wouldn’t have been able to house my baby. The end justifies the means. Now when anyone seems me with you, they know I went through a 9 month creation process.
When they see my healthy, beautiful boy, they, too may say my stretch marks and saggy skin were worth it. I can’t imagine other people negatively judging me for your place in my life and on my body. When I try on the thought, I laugh because there’s my little boy with a smile or a focused look as he examines this world.
You’ve taught me to love my body more because it can create an entire person. I still struggle with total appreciation, so thank you for existing as a reminder.
I don’t know if you’ll ever fade so much it’ll be like you were never there, or you’ll stay like new. For now, I see your presence as a symbol that giving birth, creating an entire human from scratch, is the highest form of privilege I could physically attain. Thank you.