On your mark. Get stretch ... GO!

Goddammit I love skin. It's an ORGAN. And you can draw on it! It smells like every known smell on earth. It's stretchy! To a point. And it just occurred to me that at the point the skin can no longer safely stretch, it reallocates itself accordingly so that it will not just rip wide open. It's not a scar. It's a physical manifestation of a time where you did something greater than yourself. Unless it's from being the all time winner of eating any food ever. Then again. Maybe eating 68 hotdogs in 10 minutes is a lifetime dream of yours. In which case I say, wonderful. Less hotdogs for the rest of us.

So far, the only stretch marks I boast are those left by my creative boy, River and my hilarious daughter, Magnolia. I fucking BIRTHED THEM! OUT OF MY VAGINA! Hell yes I wear those with pride. My body said "nuh uh" and my skin said "just watch me". And then it expanded just enough to give me capacity without exploding. And then when its job was done, it shrank back down. It shrank back down! Did you realize skin was this exciting?! And in its wake it left these silvery little wiggles up and down my belly. Should they ever fade away, I may even consider tattooing them back on. Cause skin is amazing. You can draw on it!

Thank you, skin.
this is highly likely not my stomach . . . but you don't know for sure ...



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