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Since my first child, seventeen years ago, my body has been ravaged by stretch marks.

Yes they are a sign of birthing a child.  Yes they tell a story of growing life.  Yes I know, I know, they are BEA-U-TI-FUL.


They’re not.

Sorry ladies, there is nothing, nothing pretty about zig zag lines running rampant over my stomach, my legs, my chest and my backside.  If I could cut it all off and put new skin on I would. Yes, I would.

For those mommies that reveal in it, glorify it and enjoy that tiger-striped, saggy bag look- all the power to you.  Seriously.

I get it, sometimes in life, to make ourselves feel better we put pretty words to it.

I am NOT saying our kids are not worth the stretch marks  What I am saying, is they are not pretty.  And I wish they weren’t necessary.  It’s too bad they can’t be temporary too…like the swollen ankles, horrific heartburn, ginormous stomach, achy back and ridiculous bathroom antics.  Why yes, I do want my cake and eat it too thank you very much.  I am not ashamed of them.  No sir’ree.  BUT, I do not glorify them, or wish for anyone to see them, or want to take pictures of them, or quite frankly look at them myself.

Yes, we are ALL beautiful.  Truly.  Our stretch marks are not.  Sorry folks.  Neither are saggy boobs.  Nope, those long ‘socks’ of emptiness, are not GOR-GE-OUS.

What is beautiful, is the intention.  The end result (our nut job kids), and, what is most beautiful, is when my husband runs his hands over my stretch marks and smiles.  That is beautiful.

I still want them gone though.