Stretch Marks and Other Badges of Motherhood

Have you ever heard the saying, "Wear your stretch marks proudly?" Well, honestly, that's a load of crap. They're hideously ugly and, in my case, stretch all over my lower abdomen like red waves of Freddy Kruger scratches. Not a pretty sight.

The husband has been frantically rubbing lotion on my stomach in a vain attempt to rid his wife of these "badges of motherhood." I saw his eyes bulge a little the first time my tummy popped out of my too-tight t-shirt. He raced to the shelves and grabbed the first bottle of belly butter he could find. "Shea butter is best, right?!" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

But I have already faced the truth: Mom has them, and I'll have them, too. How do I know mom has them? She shows me EVERY CHANCE SHE GETS. Along with the skin show, she also comments, "See what you did to me?! You were SOOOO BIG."

I'm having trouble with the idea of my belly getting any bigger, since it's been difficult fitting into anything...and I don't mean just clothes. I mean car doors, house doors. Doors in general. And sliding into a booth at a restaurant can be humiliating at times. It's not unlike pushing an inflated aero bed into a crawl space.

But bigger it will get. After a visit to my doc last week, I was reassured that my stomach was perfectly normal and that I had gained 20 pounds, well within what I should have gained by month 7. But I still feel like I may topple over at any moment, like a weeble wobble.

Month 8 and 9 should be interesting.