I got them. Arrggh! I blame the hospital. I didn't have even a trace of stretching before I entered and now I have dozens of purple squiggles circling my belly button. It's digusting, and I can't help obsessing over them. I mean, come on, they're permanent!
My two oldest sisters, who have five kids between them, never got stretch marks and I thought I'd get away without them, too. Is it because I have twins? I ask Emily over and over again if she still loves me, and if she'll still be attracted to me after the babies are born when my stomach is a silver-streaked, floppy bag.
Yes, she assures me, she'll always love me and be attracted to me.
I choose to believe her. But I'm still mad at the hospital.