Stretch marks the Spot

Who’s already tired of my postpartum word play? NO ONE? GREAT, I’LL KEEP GOING FOR MONTHS. I’m only two weeks postpartum, and I’ve yet to fully look at or reckon with what pregnancy has wrought upon my body. I dart past mirrors like they’re people who’s names I don’t remember. This is not a compliment fishing trip or a cry for help, as I don’t even know what I’m dealing with just yet. But lately there’s been a weird surge of celebrity pregnancies, or maybe I’m just more aware of them? And there’s a lot of articles right now re: women showing off their post-pregnancy bodies, like in a real way, the scars and lines and stretch marks, presenting them like battle wounds, and it’s great. But while I did spend some energy while pregnant rubbing cocoa butter on my gut in case that prevents something, I have to say I’m not concerned about stretch marks BECAUSE I’VE HAD STRETCH MARKS SINCE I WAS 13. I have felt many, many times like someone made a fat suit and forced me to wear it, stitched it onto me. I wonder if for many women, pregnancy is the first time since puberty that their body changes into something they don’t know, the first time their body morphs beyond their control. But my body did that at 13, at 15, at 17, at 20, and then again all through IVF, it grew and shrunk and grew as I discovered things like ‘Wendy’s drive through’ and ‘candy aisle at Party City’ and ‘feelings’ and ‘Progesterone shots’ and ‘Christmas cookie dough’ and ‘cardio’ and something called ‘Bikini sticks’ which are essentially tiny packets of pink cocaine that you spritz into water and sip like a cocktail (for more information, please refer to my fleeting wedding body.) I’ve been betrayed by my reflection so many times that it doesn’t shock me. So maybe I am better prepared to deal with postpartum body life? JK OFF TO THE FAT FREEZING STORE

Leave a Reply