I lay in bed yesterday morning cuddling our two older boys and waiting for the dulcet cries of ‘MUMMEEEE!’ that would herald the awakening of our two year old. As they gave me ‘butterfly kisses’ with their eyelashes and I received several bruises from elbows and knees as they adjusted position, I began to think of all the ways that my face and body really are a ‘map’ of motherhood.
I still have darker patches on my cheeks and temples from a change in pigmentation whilst pregnant and I have a good few ‘laughter lines’ from the endless entertainment and joy that children bring. Hopefully not too many wrinkles caused by frowning but maybe a few caused by worry and sleepless nights that are also the inevitable product of having offspring.
My boobs; oh dear. My poor, ravaged boobs, complete with stretch marks from growing to the size of Jordan’s and then shrivelling to empty crisp packets several times a day, for several months whilst I breastfed my three children. No amount of soothing creams and cabbage leaves chilled in the fridge could have rescued these poor puppies.
I don’t have stretch marks on my stomach thanks to the obsessive application of Bio Oil twice a day throughout each pregnancy but I have a tattoo of a scorpion that has always looked slightly traumatised since being stretched to the size of a lobster three times and on my lower back I have the tattoos of my children’s birth signs in various formats and the Celtic sign for motherhood with a back dot representing each of my boys.
I obviously can’t see it but, like every parent, I know that if someone was to look at a cross section of my heart my children’s names would be there too. Like a tree with rings that represent its age, my children would be there, with every beat and breath, inextricably part of me forever and making me complete.
Then again, to be fair, if someone was to look at a cross section of my liver they would probably find ‘wine’ tattooed there. Like a tree with rings that represent its age, wine would be there for every stressful moment of parenthood, inextricably part of me and making me complete. The only difference is that there wouldn’t be enough room for a ring per individual glass, so they’d have to count up in hundreds.
Linked up to the lovely Suzanne’s 3 Children and It ‘Oldies but Goodies’ blog hop.