::stretch: for my pregnant sisters ::

It was the first thing I noticed.

Pink lines marched along my skin as my body made room for each pound that I gained.

Everywhere.

My thighs,
my breasts,
my butt
and my stomach.

The pregnancy books talked about these lines, these marks that would never tan and would never go away. My body was changing,

and it would never be the same.

My tummy was bigger now, bigger every day. Yet it never seemed big enough for that life inside of me.

Sitting on the couch, I would feel the pressure--
a foot jabbing into my ribs, kicking me from the inside out,
or a shoulder rotating against my hip bone,
or an elbow poking at my side.
I could recline,
reposition,
realign.

There wasn't enough room in there. No matter how much I would stretch myself.

The pains crept in--those crampy, achy, here-it-comes pains. I could close my eyes and try to envision it--
the stretching that would bring this sweet, new life into the world,
into my arms,
the stretching that was going on all through my body.

It was only through that stretching that my little girl child would find her place, cuddled in the safety of the family bed,
a little nursling at my side.

Sweet, sweet baby, with rosebud lips and glowing cheeks.
I know you.
I know who you are, as you've grown inside of me,
built me up,
and helped me to grow.

You're the one who has changed me from a selfish girl into a hopeful mother. I want to be more for you, better for you. I want to be the very best you could ever have.

No one has ever made me feel this way, though many have tried.
Teachers,
parents,
friends,
preachers,
lovers.
No one has caused me to want to be as much as I want to be for you.

Sweet, sweet baby, I watch you sleep for a moment, and then, blinking your eyes, you look at me and lift your little balled hands high above your head, pushing your toes as far as you can push them from your fingers...

And you stretch.
You stretch.
You stretch
me.

Each day, child, you stretch me. There's more of me than I ever thought there could be.

I am more flexible,
more pliable,
more malleable than I could have forced myself to be.

I stretch out my hands to hug you after you fall.
I stretch out my mind to understand you when you're so very teenaged and I'm so very not.
I stretch my love to add another child.
And another.
And another.
And another.
I stretch out my trust in God to protect you when you're away from me.

My body will never be the same. The silvery-gray lines that will never tan--they were just the beginning.

You've stretched me, Child
--my body,
my heart,
my mind,
my spirit.

It was the first thing I noticed...