10 years ago, when i had my first baby, there was not much emphasis on cocoa butter. it was just a generally excepted fact that part of the exchange for one deliciously chubby baby, was purple slash marks on the various stretches of land that make up a person's person.
I have spent some time over the last 10 years lamenting the fact that no one bothered to tell me that these scars were avoidable, simply by coating my self in smellygood, lotion. but alas, they are starting to prove useful.
I have two boys who currently reside in the stage of "you can't tell me what to do." hA HA HA!! that's so funny. (big sigh after hardy laugh) anyway. for example here is a recent conversation.
me: austin it's time to turn off the wii and go outside.
austin: WHAT? i didn't get as long a turn as quinton...... blah blah blah......
me: (interupting, you just must do this as a mother sometimes) I don't know who you think you are, but when i ask you to do something, you say "yes mom!" and then you do it!
austin: YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!!
me: (having an epiphany and pulling up my shirt to reveal just my train wreck abdomen) see these stretch marks? i grew you in here and YES I CAN!!
no 7 year old wants to see his mom's train wreck belly, let alone discover the cause.
he very humbly clamps his mouth shut. and turns off the wii.
all this trauma for austin has me examining my stretch marks again to see if they really are that horrendous. i discover that they are worse from the side then the front. i'll remember that next time i need to bare them and turn slighty askew as i do so. it'll be even more effective.
while i'm examining i swear i begin to see an odd pattern in my war wounds. you know how you look at something long enough and it starts to morph and expand before your eyes?
"could it be?," i think, " is that really what i think it is?"
i rummage through the toy box until i find what i need. an ancient kid magnifying glass shaped like a sea turtle. i grip the green plastic handle and take a breath, peering at the suspicious area. and what i see makes me gasp out loud. my suspicions are confirmed. the long hideous scars are formed by tiny grotesquely, artistic, graffiti. the message they spell out takes my breath away. it reads:
austin was here
a smile forms on this mother's face. and i start the search on the sacred landscape of miraculous birthing history for signs of the other three.
I have spent some time over the last 10 years lamenting the fact that no one bothered to tell me that these scars were avoidable, simply by coating my self in smellygood, lotion. but alas, they are starting to prove useful.
I have two boys who currently reside in the stage of "you can't tell me what to do." hA HA HA!! that's so funny. (big sigh after hardy laugh) anyway. for example here is a recent conversation.
me: austin it's time to turn off the wii and go outside.
austin: WHAT? i didn't get as long a turn as quinton...... blah blah blah......
me: (interupting, you just must do this as a mother sometimes) I don't know who you think you are, but when i ask you to do something, you say "yes mom!" and then you do it!
austin: YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!!
me: (having an epiphany and pulling up my shirt to reveal just my train wreck abdomen) see these stretch marks? i grew you in here and YES I CAN!!
no 7 year old wants to see his mom's train wreck belly, let alone discover the cause.
he very humbly clamps his mouth shut. and turns off the wii.
all this trauma for austin has me examining my stretch marks again to see if they really are that horrendous. i discover that they are worse from the side then the front. i'll remember that next time i need to bare them and turn slighty askew as i do so. it'll be even more effective.
while i'm examining i swear i begin to see an odd pattern in my war wounds. you know how you look at something long enough and it starts to morph and expand before your eyes?
"could it be?," i think, " is that really what i think it is?"
i rummage through the toy box until i find what i need. an ancient kid magnifying glass shaped like a sea turtle. i grip the green plastic handle and take a breath, peering at the suspicious area. and what i see makes me gasp out loud. my suspicions are confirmed. the long hideous scars are formed by tiny grotesquely, artistic, graffiti. the message they spell out takes my breath away. it reads:
austin was here
a smile forms on this mother's face. and i start the search on the sacred landscape of miraculous birthing history for signs of the other three.
