Love Marks

A little less than a year ago, as I was rounding off my 40+ weeks of pregnancy, I was heavy laden.  My stomach was so large that people would stop me in the store and ask me if I was having twins.  No.  No, I wasn't.  (But nearly 10 months later I can gloat report that my son seems to have enough personality to be twins.)

I never really wrote too much about my first encounter with birthing.  Perhaps because it is something that I like to keep tucked in the pockets of my heart.  And perhaps because it wasn't quite like I had envisioned.  It involved operating rooms and sharp objects and more anesthesia that I was prepared for.  But, there was that one defining moment--the one no mother ever forgets--when I heard a tiny cry for the first time.  Embedded forever in me are the feelings of complete wonder and joy at that sound.

The aftermath of this miracle involved a painful recovery and an abdomen that didn't look quite right...at least not how it used to look.  Think of what taut balloons look like after all of the air is released.  Words like shriveled and wilted come to mind.  And then there were the scraggly lines and a misshapen belly button.

Although having a baby brought love and joy beyond what I imagined and hoped for, I have to admit, I suddenly found myself among the ranks of postpartum mothers who suddenly don't recognize themselves in their own bodies.  I tried hard not to let society's obsession with body image get into my head.  It didn't always work.  I won't say that it devastated me, because it didn't.  But, it did bring my self-confidence down a few notches.  Which, in my opinion, is most unfortunate.

Tonight, whilst pinning for pay on Pinterest (Yes, you read that right, pinning for pay.  Jealous, you say?  Don't be; it's come to an end.), I came across a pin with a picture of a mother's abdomen that looked not unlike my own.  And with it was written the following:

"A mark for every breath you took, every blink, every sleepy yawn. One for every time you sucked your thumb, waved hello, closed your eyes and slept in the most perfect darkness. One for every time you had the hiccups. One for every dream you dreamed within me. It isn't very pretty anymore. Some may even think it ugly. That's OK. It was your home. It's where I first grew to love you, where I lay my hand as I dreamed about who you were and who you would be. It held you until my arms could, and for that, I will always find something beautiful in it."

And with a lump in my throat, I have to agree.