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I don’t stare and marvel at my changing body. I just don’t have capacity for it. I feel like I simply exist day-to-day to find something, without a waistband, to hold myself together. ⁣

But then there’s these rare moments. ⁣
Like this one gifted to me because my husband took a photo. ⁣

A rare moment where I can pause. ⁣
Soak it in. Remember. ⁣

I don’t love my stretch marks, yet they hold a certain string of memories. ⁣

You see, each of these lines are over a decade old. ⁣

Some, from my growth. ⁣
Some, brought by Maya.⁣
A few brought by Jemma. ⁣
Many more brought by Boden. ⁣

To imagine that my own expansion, and then her siblings 10,12,14 years ago, made way.⁣
Created space. ⁣
For her. ⁣

She has not brought me more lines, yet. ⁣
She has simply grown into a space, left there by us. ⁣

It took me 8 years of crying grief and shame to accept these marks, these expansions. ⁣

Yet now, I am grateful. ⁣

Because while pregnancy this time has been one of my harder seasons, between illness and depression, I still carry this space, these pauses… to marvel. ⁣

For how grief turned to gratefulness. ⁣
For how a body is woven through experience. ⁣
For how a space was made, expanded upon and shared. ⁣
By 4 people. ⁣
Waiting on one.


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