Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Stretchmarks strike back
Only recently I was blithely asserting how I had nary a stretchmark on my belly. Yes I was aware that everyone in my family gets them. Yes I was aware that puberty left me with enough to make a hot tire jealous. It's called denial. Each day I smiled as I slathered on cocoa butter and told others the virtues of lotioning and hydrating. But you see- I hadn't really fully examined my belly since at the moment its hard to access visually the dark side of the moon, or as its otherwise known the underside of my planetary belly. Today after my shower I took a hand mirror and looked and um, yeah- there they were, enough to congregate and have marches and rallies. On that note I must say I love Jack very much. Why? Because I've shown him my belly as I lotion up and have proudly said see honey? no stretch marks anywhere! To which once he hesitatingly said um I think I might see one.... To which I shrieked with a look of panic, to which he quickly covered his tracks and said no no, it was just a shadow. And yes I believed him because I'm quite good at the art of denial. I'm not saying moisturizing/hydrating doesn't work. Maybe I'd be beat up skating rink if I hadn't done so, but I am saying that I gots them. And yes- I will accept them like the battle marks they are. I got these from carrying my son so if one must have such marks, they're the best damn stretch marks one could ask for.