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I have this thing about stretch marks.
I think they should be reserved for women who have been skinny all their lives and then get pregnant. For those of us where that’s not the case, we probably already have some non-baby stretch marks hanging around, thankyouverymuch.
With Libbie, I didn’t get any stretch marks until I was at least 35 weeks. I was sure I had evaded the horror. And then they broke out like a rash on my lower abdomen. It made me cry.
There has already been an outbreak of new stretch marks on my belly this go-around. I am fairly sure Baby David is going to be 14 pounds coming out, as much as he pushes and shoves and tries to make more room, and as big as I am already. I am in waddling mode.
The new stretch marks make me want to cry every bit as much as the old ones … but I am too busy sleeping and chasing a toddler to have time to cry.
There are so many other things I consider “wrong” with my body that I don’t know why these little pale lines bother me so much. But I obsess. I poke. I prod. I rub on cocoa butter.
And then I say things to my husband like, “Are you sure you’ll still love me when I deflate and still have all these nasty marks all over my belly?”
He is flabbergasted, because he cannot imagine what’s going through my mind. He looks me in the eye and says, “I will always love you.”
I believe him. I knew I loved that man.
Does everyone have their own pregnant obsession? One change that bothers them above all else? Or is it just me?