Monday, October 23, 2006

The Story My Body Tells

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

-from Maya Angelou's poem "Phenomenal Woman"

Mary at Owlhaven wants to know about scars. The physical kind, I think. So, I have a few. I tend to scar easily, but they go away eventually. I have my birthday scar, the splatter on my arm, now 13 months old, from bacon grease.

I have 3 kidlets, so I have the stretch marks. On my belly and hips. You can't hold up a watermelon on two toothpicks, you know. So my thighs grew with my belly. Not a ton, but enough.

I have a scar on my ankle from...this is killer, scratching myself with my own toenail in bed while asleep. Ya. I rawk.

I have a round scar, almost gone, on my calf, from 5 years ago. It's a burn, too, from a motorcycle tailpipe, which I was riding with my husband, after I had a stroke and got pregnant, all in the same month. Ya, the doctor was really thrilled to see me again.

Oh right, I have a scar on my brain. I had a stroke, Easter of 2001. So there's a little thumbprint-sized section of dead cells on the left center part of my brain.

The thing is, my scars tell the story of my life, don't they? I'm a mother, I grew life inside me. I nourished those little lives, too. But sagginess is not a scar. I'm a survivor. I like to hang on to the back of my husband and hold on really tight. And I'm kind of a klutz. But I celebrate, I dream, I play. Pretty phenomenal, huh?

Posted by Sarah Jean :: 8:11 AM :: 3 Comments:

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