Story by Lacey Owen
Her little hand gently appeared on my tummy. ‘Mum, tell me which lines are mine again?’
Covering my midsection, the intricate map of my Motherhood. Distinct evidence of a time where they not only grew within, but a reminder of myself growing physically and emotionally as a Mother.
Tracing my skin I explained three different sets, respective of each pregnancy. Breasts and thighs courtesy of her, bottom and hips due to her brother, and tummy thanks to our youngest son.
She listened intently as her fingers danced delicately over faded silvery marks, before quietly whispering in awe… ‘Mum, they’re beautiful’.
And she’s damn right. Because even though my body may not be considered perfect in society’s opinion, that’s all her eyes see.
And I couldn’t think of anything more perfect than that.
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