Manifesto on Stretch Marks

There are more urban myths about stretch marks than there are about Bigfoot. Moms and moms to be LOVE to discuss all things stretch mark.

When I was pregnant, I heard some CRAZY things about preventing them and dealing with them post baby eviction.

By far, my favorite was, “Rub extra virgin olive oil on your stomach.” Um, no thanks. First of all, that stuff tends to be expensive. I needed all the money I could get for all the other stuff people were telling me I had to buy.

I’ve heard that maternity stores like Pea in the Pod have fake baby bellies that you can strap on to catch a glimpse of your future physique. What they should REALLY have are fake stretch marks that you can stick on your stomach (and/or your arms, chest, butt, every possible inch of dermis you have) to prepare you. THAT would be keeping it real. While they’re at it, add in some ankle padding (for future cankles) and hormonal acne.

I was one of those people who thought they were in the clear as far as stretch marks were concerned. I had this during my pregnancy, and it actually made me lose weight (sounds much more pleasant than it actually was) rather than gain it. By my six month, I barely looked pregnant, but I was starting to feel a little bit better. The baby gradually got bigger, and then WHAM he multiplied practically overnight. No joke. I felt like a toothpick trying to hold up a basketball. Too ridiculous, but still no stretch marks.

I thought I’d beaten the pregnancy system.

Then one morning, I looked down. My vision of my lower half was somewhat limited, but I saw a little purple squiggle. At first, I tried to rub it off. I didn’t even realize what it was.

What an idiot.

After that, there was no stopping them. Baby kept multiplying, and he was kicking and punching me so hard on my right sight that the stretch marks there were way worse than the ones on my left. Barf.

It wasn’t gradual at all. I had no warning. It wasn’t like, “Gee, I have one stretch mark, let me process.” More like, “Mother of God, my stomach looks like driving directions on Map Quest!”

When you freak out about your stretch marks like I did, moms have plenty of advice. Some swear on stacks of bibles that they’ll go away. This is a dirty trick. They may lessen in severity, but they still make their presence known.

Even though they realize it may be a losing battle, moms love to purchase and use products to make them disappear. They love cocoa butter, which I believe to be an old wives tale mixed with a huge marketing ploy. Someone got together with the inventor of Valentines Day and came up with that one. Just the smell of it makes me nauseous now. Oh, and the gazillion dollar lotions and/or serums that promise to get rid of them? Yeah, you’ll find those in the aisle next to the fairy dust.

Question:

Are stretch marks mini-Badges of Honor or a Pre-Adolescence F*** You From Your Spawn?

Extra Credit:

What does your post-baby stomach look like? A couple to get you started:

*A horizontal stack of Pringles.
*A paperback book that got wet and then dried all crinkly.

Pardon me while I go look in the Lands End catalogue for a moderate yet stylish one-piece.

Minute Clinic? Nah, just use Google.

Moms are known for being paranoid about their own health. They obsessively search sites like WebMD, maniacally clicking on lists of symptoms like they've just hit the hypochondriac lottery.

Make them responsible for a miniature human, and the mania multiples a gazillion percent.

I'd easily wager that pediatricians feel a strong urge to kick parents in the shins everytime they hear, "But I read on the internet that...." They may have even considered putting up signs that read, "NO CELLPHONES AND/OR WIKIPEDIA MEDICAL DISCUSSION ALLOWED DURING APPOINTMENTS".

While pregnant, I found myself wondering how women did it without the internet. Where would they search for lists of food that may harm their fetal inhabitant? How did they live without posting discussions about sex during pregnancy or bitch about how much weight they're gaining? THE HORROR!

Strangly enough, we're alive. Some of us are even having our own babies. Our mothers may have even eaten soft cheese and/or fish with a high level mercury content while we occupied their uterus. My own mother said she asked her doctor if she could still rollerskate while pregnant. (Apparently she and my father were regulars at the skate rink.) Can you imagine a mom's response to a "Skating While Pregnant Post" on a message board? Heads would explode.