Scars are funny things. Some of them you show proudly, some you try and hide. Some you’ve had for most of your life, others are brand new (pardon the pun :-).
I have a few “favourite” scars. There’s one on my forearm that I got from an extremely hot dish while I was making rusks. The dish landed on my arm while I was turning it over to get the rusks out, and it went down hard on my skin for a good few seconds before I could get it off. To my surprise, it didn’t really hurt that much, and after a while I realised it was pretty deep and must have burnt through the nerves. This scar is one I show off proudly for fun.
Then there are the scars I hide. The stretch marks from my growth spurts. I have quite a few over the usual spots, and it wasn’t that I was growing out (at the time), it was that I was growing up. In more ways than one. I have been self conscious of these scars for years and years, and cover them up as much as possible.
The scar that I’ve had for most of my life is on my chest. It’s perfect in every way. It’s perfect in shape – a beautiful diamond. It’s perfect in position – so much so that when I wear v-neck tops, I line the point up with it, as it sits right in the middle of my chest. And it’s perfect in appearance – you can hardly see it unless it’s pointed out to you (or you’re looking really hard at my chest!!) This scar was from an altercation I had with a tiny piece of hot glass that went down my pyjamas when I was 3 years old (I think?) I’ve always been pretty clumsy! 🙂
And then there’s the new scars. These scars used to also fall under the “scars I try to hide category”. They’re the stretchmarks on my tummy from carrying my beautiful son in my belly for 40 weeks + 5 days. Up until week 38, no stretch marks had appeared on my baby belly and I was so happy about this. Since I’m prone to stretchmarks, I was sure I would be covered in them while pregnant, but it wasn’t until the Monday of my 39th week, that the first one appeared. Chance had “dropped” practically overnight, and as well as the pain and pressure on my pelvis, my skin had to compensate fast. I cried. Hard. I rang Hubs at work and cried on the phone to him. He did his best to reassure me that it was no big deal and that I was beautiful, but I was inconsolable. I texted my friend and tried to put things into perspective, but as the days passed, more and more appeared and I got more and more sad about it.
2 weeks later, Chance was born and the marks were forgotten immediately, and they have since faded quite dramatically. But they are now scars I am proud of. My battle scars. My reminder that my body is able to carry babies and how lucky I am that our little boy was born safe and well. When the time comes for baby number 2, I will be looking at those scars with fondness instead of sadness.