So, as mush as I hate to do it, screw it. Me:
Yep, I’m scarred as hell, thanks to my three children, and various abdominal surgeries. That hole at the top? That’s one of the four gallbladder removal holes. Wasn’t supposed to scar like that. In fact, a girl I knew who had the same surgery on the same day had no scar after a month. A year later for me, and look what I’ve got. That’s nothing though. you should see inside my bellybutton. Shudder. Also, I tend to look pregnant because of the pancreatitis.
Anyway, I digress. The point of this is, as much as I hate looking at myself, sick as I am, and especially seeing my stomach now, with all of its scars- you know what? Each scar means something. My belly may not be perfect, but my children, my children are.
And that’s all that really matters, I suppose. Especially when my scars are really all I have left of two of my babies. I’m not going to lie and say I treasure the stretch mark scars, but they are worthy marks, evidence of the battle my body went through to bring three people into this world. I don’t treasure them, no, but I respect them.
My gallbladder scars and pancreatitis belly, however, can fuck right off.