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 ordinary 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.