Every time I step out of the shower or stand in my closet to change I see this 6 inch scar across my tummy that reminds me of what used to grow inside me. I run my fingers across it often. The slightest tingle of where the nerves are gone, the ever so small mountain of scar tissue. The three precious babes that were safe and nurtured there, the three tiny souls that had life breathed into them, the three little people that carry my hearts in them.
A mark of remembrance given by a doctor’s hands.
I know of many women who see their scar as a symbol of failure. They wanted a certain kind of birth story and their scar is a daily reminder of a dream that might have been lost. I get that. We can’t judge someone’s dreams or someone’s pain. I learned that when we lost Addison. In a weird way I felt ashamed, like my body had failed me. Like I was less of a woman. But with my scar…for me, it’s such a symbol of beauty. I love my scar, I love what it represents. I love that I will leave earth with this scar, I will still have a physical symbol that the souls I hold dearest grew within me. I love that it will not diminish or change, it is a forever part of me…just as each of them are.
My scar holds gratitude. Gratitude for modern medicine…. for without it Aiden and I wouldn’t be here today. You see, my hip bones are designed in a way where a baby wouldn’t make it out any other way. And after hours of a traumatic preterm labor, they cut him out of me.
The thing is, they are small now but someday they will be grown. They will have families of their own, dreams, decisions….. and not only will they still carry my heart but I will carry the physical reminder of their beginning.
There is a story behind every scar.
Can you think of anything more beautiful than your child’s life behind that mark?