Although my belly button has seen better days, I didn't get one stretch mark while I was pregnant with Lincoln. I know "the professionals" say it doesn't matter what moisturizer or trick you use, but that it solely depends upon your skin's elasticity. I'm calling bull, but whatever.
I moisturized like a maniac, especially because I was pregnant during the winter in very low humidity, already plagued with dry skin year-round. My sister still laughs when she thinks about how much I used to itch my stomach...I'm sure I looked like a fat man scratching his pot belly (isn't that a nice image)!
For the most part, I thought my body handled an 8.4 lb baby pretty well, until it became impossible to sleep on my stomach because of a piercing, jabbing-like pain at the bottom of my rib cage. Perhaps to some people, this wouldn't be a problem...but for me, this was a colossal disappointment. My body has a strict "if you want to sleep without waking up every five minutes, do it with your face in your pillow" policy.
My entire pregnancy and throughout many months of nursing, I dreamt of the day I could once again sleep on my stomach. I obviously find it very comfortable. After giving my body 18 months to adjust (as much as possible) back to pre-baby condition, I asked my doctor about this conundrum. He told me that during my pregnancy, my lower right rib had broken (broken!!) outwards and healed that way. And "haha, sucks to be you!" (well, that was his attitude).
I was never one of "those girls," whining about being kicked; instead, I found everything (except stretchy pants) about pregnancy quite amazing. Since so many people had horror stories, sentences beginning with "just you wait," and annoying complaints instead of excitement, both Tyson and I developed a near-disgustingly positive attitude about anything baby or pregnancy-related.
Because c'mon! A woman's body can create another life?! We were so captivated by the beauty of this, we purposefully gave little focus to backaches, sleeping problems, the oh-so-creative sex life (TMI?), my brain's decision to promptly immobilize my intelligence, or to the white dress I wore practically the entire last trimester.
So, world! Here's my one complaint, my one outcry of agitation: kid broke my rib! Goodbye stomach sleeping...I guess in the long run my face will have less wrinkles, or something positive like that.
Disturbing broken rib aside, I'd do it all over again: to hold my own baby, to smell their sweet breath, to watch their mouths flicker into smiles as they sleep, and the powerful feeling that Heaven's angels haven't left them alone in mortality just yet.