|Drawing of my belly from my womb journal, while pregnant.|
|My first son and I, seven months postpartum.|
|Pregnancy journal entry, after seeing my stripes.|
Now, finally at a year postpartum, they have faded, and shrunk into tiny streaks, tracing where my skin reached it's limit. My tight abs and skin are gone. Wow. Hello, new wrinkly skin. On my left side, where I carried my fetuses, I can see more stretch marks. I remember massaging my babies, seeing them through my skin, and being one with them. My sons' pulling at my loose skin, lifting up my shirt to see my belly, and gentle petting of my battle scars, reminds me of how I embarrassed my mom. Thankfully, I have no shame. I know they look at me with the flawless eyes of love, as I looked at my mother. "Es que me ves con ojos de amor.", my grandmother says.
Like Mexica warrior men exhibited their calves, showing off their battle scars with short mantles, I proudly wear my stretch marks. Of course, I don't walk around in tiny shirts, or wear my bikini out of context, but they are a part of my new body. I embrace each longitita and stretch mark as a part of the new me.
|My tiny stretch marks being caressed by Akinyemi|