Mothering Stretchmarks?

The trail is silvery

Winding east to west

North to south

Spidering off towards

No-Man’s Land…

Each trail was forged

By eruptions

Stretching the land

By uncontrollable growth

Inevitable bursting of a fertile ground.

The trails started beneath the surface

But forces of nature

Took over and pushed open the land

The power beneath too strong to bear.

First a little line

Then a stretched-out jag

And even a red and purple-y highway

Looking much like the London Underground

Or the multi-laned highways that circle

the larger-than-life city of Houston.

Deceptive in both their origins

and final destinations…

these trails of mine.

I look.

I wince.

I look again.

Is that silvery highway

Really all mine?

I stare and trace my fingers

Over my skin that tells the story.

My Story:

The Journey of Motherhood.

The criss-crossed stretching-marks

Of seven full-term pregnancies.

I was that mother that caressed her

bulging tummy

loving my baby

singing and humming tunes

I hoped would reach baby’s ears.

Cocoa butter provided only moisture

And a reason to rub love into my baby…

But it didn’t hold back the

Inevitable stretchmarks that brought

disapproval to my ego

when I was younger.

I couldn’t bear to look at them.

By the third go-round,

I stopped looking

And kept moving.

I lost baby weight

And still they were there—

Those journey trails…

The older trails are silvery and nearly invisible

While the last journey’s trails

are still vivid;

Nine pound babies need lots of room.

Did you know that?

They do.

I’m curious nowadays.

I look and wonder,

“which baby did that one?”

“Oh, that one will never go away.”

“Wow. There’s a story with these.”

The truth is,

I have a Mother’s Body.

I have been a vessal of creation.

My hair is thinner…gray is coming in.

Oh I do so embrace the gray;

like a silver medal of honor—

I’ve been in the trenches of

Diaper pails, teething fevers,

Sleepless nights, fretful fears.

And I’ve survived.

My eyes are not as bright as

the days of my former youth.

They’ve cried tubfulls of tears

for joys and worries alike.

At the wonders of first words

First steps, first days of school,

Mission farewells, Homecomings,

And around sacred temple alters.

My eyes have given me a front row seat

To the spectacle that is my life.

At the end of this summer day,

I am slower than I used to be—

I cannot just ‘jump up’ and get going…

No, my moves are deliberate

because my muscles get tight when I sit

too long.

Those muscles used to have a knee-jerk reaction

when a baby cried

a dish broke

a chair tipped

And still on occasion forget they are stiff

when a midnight phone call wakes me.

All of my body has been

Used up to grow a family.

 The word "stretchmark" 

may as well define the "stretching" I have done as a woman

as well as

the stretching my body and soul
has done to become a mother.

And at the end of the day,

it's really ALL GOOD.