S is for stretchmarks

Dear body,
We haven't always had the same idea of what you were supposed to be like. My first want for you was boobs, a butt, thighs, and hips. A real woman's curves. It took years and several cheeseburgers, but eventually you complied. I could no longer see the spread of my hip bones, jutting out like the wings of a flesh colored butterfly.

Then it was my nose, my teeth, my eyes, the color of my hair, the length of my legs, how sparse my eyebrows are, and that one weird mole that rests inside the hollow of my neck. Every time I looked in the mirror I just saw large pores and crooked teeth.

I've never really thought of myself as a pretty girl, but this isn't a letter about my self-esteem. This is a letter about my stretchmarks.

I became dissatisfied with the curves that I demanded of you. Maybe it was because we jiggled with every step we took, maybe it's because nothing fit right, or maybe it's because I ate all my sadness and whenever I looked down it just made me want a brownie.

So, you were nice enough to comply. I'm starting to be thin again.

But now, you're riddled with these shimmery white stripes. My calves, hips, breasts, and butt are now marred with stretchmarks.

And I really don't mind them.

These are our stretchmarks. They go for miles and miles to explain the woman we've grown into. The body of the child we've left behind. They are pink and red and silvery white, stretched around those parts people like to touch. They are ugly but they are the evidence of maturity. I look at them and I am proud.

Honestly, I don't think you've ever been so lovely.

I think I'll keep you this way. Crooked teeth, stretchmarks, and all.

Love,
Kendra

C is for choices

Dear Little Baby Kendra,
          Hey, little baby. How are your toes? Good? Good.
You have no idea, yet, but life is going to get very strange for you. You are going to get freaked out by all of the weirdness that's happening in your days and in your head and you're gonna make some pretty unpopular decisions.

It's okay, though, because you're going to be young and dumb and confused. I'm here to deal with the mess you've made. That's what I am here for and I'm good at it. I can't really hold it against you because I'm still making choices Future Kendra will have to deal with.

I wish I could tell you not to drop out of school. I wish I could tell you not to date the conspiracy theorist with anger issues, that guy is bad news. And I wish I could tell you not to freak out and run away at every life change.
But you wouldn't listen, even if I could, would you? No. Because no one tells you what to do, right?

Yeah, that's still a thing you do. You also never really get over playing the drop game. Or with your toes. You're still kind of a dumb baby.

Listen: I've gotten to the point to where your choices no longer keep me up at night. Finally. And I've even accepted the words I would say to you, if I could, for myself and my choices:

It's life, little baby. Now: shhhhhhh. Calm down, it's okay, you're okay.

I've got you.


Love,
Present Kendra