I have new stretchies! They were not there yesterday morning…but they were there last night! 12 hours is all it takes to be marked, my friends.
Right on my ass. Vertical. On each cheek, to balance out the universe.
I shall call the ones on the left side The Jonas Brothers & the ones on the right…The Backstreet Boys.
oh, yes.
NOT ME.
Yes, that is my right hip in all of it’s blubbery, pasty Irish glory. & the guests of honor, of course — my stretch marks!
I chuckle when pregnant women run screaming to their local Target, ravishing the cream isles at the first sign of a pink line on their hips or belly. Ladies, please. I was BORN with stretch marks. You do not get to Cindy Crawford’s height without battle wounds! Truly, I think it was 5th grade when I noticed my first stretchie in ballet class. Thankfully, I was too young for it to register horror, so I used to poke at it & scratch it while we stretched on the floor (toes pointed, of course), wondering “WHAT IS THIS ODD PINK LIGHTENING BOLT?” I was also wearing a bra by the fourth grade, so it is no shock that God marked me by my 11th birthday.
By my 16th birthday, my thighs, breasts, ass, & hips were marked with white ragged lines. & I still rocked a bikini on the beach as a teenager. So please…forgive my eye roll at any woman who panics at her first stretch when she’s 30 due to carrying another human being. Sympathy can be found in the dictionary between shit & syphilis.
Oddly enough, Harrison has yet to give me any new stretch marks…he’s just expanding the old-school members of The League of Blair’s Fat Butt. It’s kind of odd to watch a white stretch get a pink tip on it as it expands…interesting. I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen constellation patterns forming, which is mildly exciting & may deem the need for an evening with a Sharpie marker.
I see stretchies as a simple rite of passage — into adolescence, into motherhood, into being a female. Embrace them. & put down the effing cream, okay? Don’t you think that Bill Gates would have competition if someone really found a $10 cream that cured stretch marks?
Since HJ’s closet is painfully small & will mostly be used for storage of bedding & diapers, I decided to refinish a dresser given to me for my own nursery. After 26 years, it definitely needed a little TLC with a sander & paintbrush. My friend Meredith (remember the mentioning of a designer friend? yeah, that’s her) helped me select a few colors out of the bedding & instructed me on how to distress it, much like the red bedside table. She’s a genius, & these colors will help tie in the rocker & the bedding with the dark blue walls.
After spending 2 hours at the hardware store getting paint matches for Benjamin Moore colors, shifting my weight back & forth & rolling my eyes at the other customer who kept insisting her match wasn’t perfect (dude…not going to be perfect), I finally made it home to 90-degree heat & 100% humidity. Lovely day for painting, no? First, I sanded the dresser lightly, since it was a pretty bleh walnut stain with 26 years of wear. Next came a coat of Buxton Blue. Wait forever for it to dry in the humidity. Then a coat of Buckland Blue. Wait an entire week for the dresser to not stick to everything it comes in contact with. Realize that I forgot to paint the damn door, so restart the process for one piece. A week later, CAREFULLY sand down parts of Buckland Blue to reveal areas of Buxton Blue (to show “wear”). Touch-up areas I messed up royally. Then finally wash Hale Navy over entire piece with a wet rag. Let dry in the blazing heat, thanking God for a repast from the sweltering humidity.
And what was SUPPOSED to be a one weekend project spanned three weeks, due to heat, humidity, & my ability to completely eff up a project with white lacquer in the final step. But alas, I conquered the art of antiquing:
& I LOVE IT. I know you can’t get the full effect of the nursery with this one picture, but it really pulls in the lighter blues from the bedding & the glider. Plus, it helps solve the “primary colors” problem that was driving me bonkers — I wanted nautical, not an American flag! Praise God for good Canadian friends with an eye for design.
I feel like there has been a ton of growth between 20 weeks & 24 weeks…it’s kind of weird to look at, honestly. & I am carrying him so low that he might fall out of my vagina due to gravity vs. actual labor. He pretty much stands on my cervix throughout the day, using it as a trampoline. Lovely.
How far along? 24 weeks
Total weight gain/loss: Up 11 lbs total.
Maternity clothes? yep.
Stretch marks? Just the expansion of old-school stretchies.
Sleep: Yes, please.
Best moment this week: Little J getting to feel Harrison kick.
Movement: Several times per day…I love it.
Food cravings: Nothing, really. I tried beans this week, but nope…still an aversion.
Gender: BOY!
Labor Signs: None
Belly Button in or out? In
What I miss: Feeling like I have all the time in the world.
What I am looking forward to: Our “babymoon” to Charleston.
Weekly Wisdom: You really don’t need that lemon cupcake after going to a baby shower. ::sigh:: Hence the two-pound weight gain this week alone.
Milestones: Viability!!!! Lord knows that I DO NOT want him to come for at least another 13 weeks, but it is sweet security to know the doctor’s would at least give it a try at this point.
& here we are. Harpie’s due date. June 10th. A day I joyously embraced starting in September, & dreaded with the loss in late November.
If I had to sum up this day into one word, it would be “bittersweet.” The bitterness of losing Harpie & the sweetness of Harrison, who has exhausted himself today by flips, spins, & kicks. I have been amazed at how sad I do feel today, despite my love of Harrison. I wear my Harpie pendent & occasionally find myself wondering if I would be in the hospital, holding my child. My heart still aches with a longing to know my first baby, even though I will get to hold Harrison in less than four months, & then watch him grow.
We wouldn’t have Harrison without Harpie. & that is the sweetest gift we could ever receive, at the most painful price we could have ever imagined.
Do I believe in a greater plan? Of course. Has the past year cemented that belief? Beyond a shadow of a doubt. It is so easy to say the cliche things through hard times — “God has a plan for you” or “There is a purpose.” These things are so hard to grasp & stomach while we suffer. (To be honest, I wanted to punch anyone in the face that dared utter those words to me.) But without a doubt, Nate & look back on the past 6 months & know that Harpie’s life & story has a purpose far beyond what we could have imagined.
I have been shocked at the outpouring of love from strangers & friends that follow our story. (I wish there was a way to thank you all individually!) I am amazed at the number of people that have sent me emails & comments on how touched they are by the honesty & the guttural grief, saying that it tied ends together or unintentionally offered support & solace. & through this, I have come to realize that losing Harpie did have a purpose. That all those nights of me sobbing in the shower, crying to God for answers, are coming full-circle — THIS is Harpie’s purpose. That our sweet little babe, only 12 weeks old, had the power to comfort people, reach them, & tie us together. The loss was a humbling lesson in compassion for me, & I am forever thankful for the person that God is shaping through the loss.
& for Harrison. There is no way to recognize Harpie & the pain without thanking God for my little boy. I have to believe that God had a purpose for Harpie’s loss, & part of that purpose was to make room in the world for Harrison — that Harrison has a purpose that is even larger than Harpie. & through the pain & joy, both Harpie & Harrison have given others hope. Hope that one tragic loss does not mean another. Hope in always trusting the bigger plan & pulling up by the bootstraps. Hope in a purpose is not a clear-laid path.
Tonight, I will probably cry. For what happened, what never was, & what could have been. But I will also feel absolute, undying joy with Harrison & thank God for this bigger plan & for His ability to hold me through the past 6 months.
this hand is bitterness
we want to taste it
let the hatred numb our sorrow
the wise hand opens slowly
to lilies of the valley and tomorrowthis is what it means
to be held
how it feels
when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive
this is what it is
to be loved
and to know
that the promise was when everything fell
we’d be held
~Natalie Grant
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