It took me a while to really look at my body after I had my second baby. I’m not sure how long it was. Not as long with my second baby (a VBAC) as with my first baby (an unplanned C-Section). It’s impossible to gauge time in those early days of a newborn, where life exists in the bleary-eyed dichotomy of feeding or not-feeding, and trying (and often failing) to sleep while the baby sleeps. But it was a while before I could look.
When I did finally look, really look at my postpartum body in the mirror it was surreal. I honestly felt a little bit like this bear.
Among other changes, I saw the stretch marks on my belly. Regrettably, my first unfiltered thought was:
“Eww - gross! How long are those going to be there?”
Then I paused. Wait…. Really? I just created life! I’m exhausted and still bleeding because I created life. And now I’m now spending precious ounces of my mental and emotional energy judging myself? Why? WHY? And why is that what I’m thinking?
WHO told me these are gross or ugly or not-good to have?
The media? The advertising industry? The patriarchy? Other women? My own internalized not-enough-ness?
Maybe all of the above. But that voice is not me. I suddenly saw these tiny stretch marks through a fresh lens.
They're' biology.
They’re just the way my skin responded to being stretched. They’re small ruptures in the collagen and elastin in the skin, that can become a different color as they heal. They’re just little scars. They’re just the response my skin had to creating and housing new life. They’re just the dermatological footprint leftover from …. a miracle.
Yes, they’re biology, but they’re also magic.
My body made a brand new human being, out of sex, love, food, and prenatal vitamins. That’s amazing! My body was a portal between worlds. That’s incredible! Of course it does not look like it did before.
They are not gross. They are AMAZING!
Why the F. do we live in a culture that tells women we should feel shame and hide the evidence of our magnificence? Of our magic. Of our super powers. Birthing each of my sons was a multi-day endeavor requiring a team of professionals and more communication, strength, grit, pharmaceuticals, perseverance, trust, and bodily fluids than I ever thought possible. Birth really is the epitome of “blood, sweat, and tears.”
My stretchmarks are not gross - they do not need to be hidden.
They should be revered!
They should be met with applause. Warriors should ride on horseback waving banners that pay tribute to their greatness. And every stretchmark, every c-section scar, and every perineal scar should be worshiped as sacred.
So, why do I think my stretch marks are gross?
Physically, they are actually quite beautiful.
They’re a lovely shade of purple - I like purple! They’re fascinating. They meander in intricate patterns across my belly. Like roots, or dendrites, or tiny river tributaries.
They’re mesmerizing.
They’re gorgeous.
There are more on my left side than on my right. I wonder why that is? Was my baby’s head more often on that side? Did his feet tend to push out there? Hmm, how did I feel him move, again…..?
It’s achingly sad that I already … can’t quite remember….
And that’s when I realized that deep down in my soul, I don’t want them gone. I want my stretch marks to stay forever.
I want to wear them proudly when I change in the locker room to take my sons to their first parent-and-me swim lessons. I want to let the light shine on them when my sons ask curiously about their belly buttons, and I lift up my shirt to show them that, “look - mommy has one, too!” And I want to lovingly know that they’re there under my nice flowy dress on their special days - birthdays, graduations, weddings. Maybe if I become a grandparent, I’ll hold my newborn grandchild against them one day, gazing down at a miraculous new face while my exhausted sons and their partners take a well-deserved nap after performing their own feats of magic.
My stretch marks are a profound and wonderful part of me now. They’re my body’s history and the origin of my children’s future.
And what could be more beautiful than that?
Copyright Rose Kormanyos, 2024.
Photo by Jan Canty via Unsplash.com 5/9/2024.