The Stretch//04Nov2015

the-stretchLooking down to belly expanding. Blooming, stretching, creating. Unstoppable forces push, push from inside. What has begun will be finished.

I look. Touch. Dwell.

Third time a house. Third time we stretch. Can we stretch enough? Or will the elastic reach its limit? A capacity unknown, full of trepidation and “shitting oneself”. Yet full of hope.

So much potential in every stretch mark.

Every scar holds the story of life. Not the fairytale story of smiles, pigtails and ‘please’ and ‘thankyous’. But the story less told, of graft, grind and grit. Finding swear words and yet joy in the relentless grime of raising little lives.

I look. Touch. Dwell.

Taking in the full breadth of a stomach that has much changed. No longer flat, pert, muscular and young. It dents and curves and ripples. It will never be the same. But neither will I. Forever changed, forever life is fuller. A wealth of knowledge gained over the last three years that makes a pale comparison of the three degrees that came before.

I am thoughtful, wiser, more appreciative. Distilled, more focussed in the blurriness of these little years. Who’d have thought they’d be so hard. Yet as I long and crawl and tire through endless, endless nights and days, the gold I find is worth the toil. Nuggets that pull me through and I will treasure in fifty years.

Oh that this season will end!

But oh will it prevail!

“Be gone with you!” I shout in my head, yet as they sleep I smile.

Belly stares at me in turn and I know that stretch I will and can. Accept it as it is – please can I. For who wants to stay tight and taut and toned, when in the stretch you find fullness that’s real.

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