It’s Tuesday night and I’ve sat here twiddling my thumbs wondering what to write for a while now.
Why? Because we’re talking about our own perceived flaws this week. Not an easy topic, yet the Word Whores have embraced the topic fearlessly. I want to be fearless too. So, to what shall I admit?
What do I hate about myself most?
Stretch marks.
I’m a mom of four boys. BIG babies, all. Nine pounds five ounces was the smallest one. Ten pounds five ounces was the biggest one. No one ever told me you’re supposed to lotion the hell outta your abdomen when you’re pregnant, so the first one did severe damage of the stretch mark kind. His brothers only worsened the wound. I’ll never again have a flat, bikini-ready tummy. Not sure I ever had one of those though.
I don’t see me ever goin’ in for a facelift or a nose job. But a tummy tuck? I’d sign up for one of those in a heartbeat.
What is it about that part of me that makes me willing to go under anesthesia and the knife? This flaw makes me feel ugly. Less. I can hide it with clothes, but I know its there eating at my self-confidence.
And yet, I know those marks are the scars of motherhood, the badge of bearing four boys and bringing them into the world. And so I’ve decided to put aside the shame and the self-deprecation. I am their mother, I love them as they are and I am good enough as I am….
