The Stretch Mark Club

Chapter 1: What Did We Get Ourselves Into?

It's a funny thing when you come home from the hospital with a living, breathing little person in your arms and you know her health and happiness depends entirely on you. On one hand, you cling to your previous life and pray that nothing will change; on the other, you stare into those beautiful eyes looking up at you and hope everything will.

Riley

Ten Days Old...

The first thing I remember about becoming a mother was the silence. Sure, before that, there was the moaning and, of course, the screaming. There was also the crying when Everett's mom showed up and the chorus of "Congratulations." But I didn't truly feel like a mother until the front door closed and all that was left was the silence. Zoe was asleep, like she had been for half of her life already. Everett plopped down on the couch in front of her car seat with an audible sigh and said, "Now what?" Now what, indeed.

Zoe Serena Corvel was born on May 17, 2010. 7 pounds, 8 ounces, 19 inches long and a tuft of the blondest hair you've ever seen. She had my eyes and Everett's everything else. I loved her instantly.

But for you to fully understand how much, I have to go back 40 weeks.

Everett and I had only been dating for six months. Our relationship was still in the getting-to-know-you phase but we decided we cared enough about each other to commit to that phase entirely. In fact, he had invited me to move into his apartment three weeks earlier and I'd agreed. There's nothing like living with a man to push you head first into getting to know him--dirty laundry (literally and figuratively), parental issues and all. Lucky for me, Everett didn't have too many of any of them, and we fell into a life together rather easily. Perhaps a little too easily.

I'd like to say the condom broke. It would be more responsible. That's what I told my mother. The truth is, there was no condom. We had every intention of using one but when the time came, we just didn't. Most women would have freaked out in the aftermath of what they'd done. They would have mentally accounted for their last period and potential ovulating schedule. They would have called their girlfriends and obsessed about what might be. They would have scoured the internet for an answer that would set their mind at ease. I did none of those things. I forgot about it and went on with my life. It was so unlike me. Looking back now, I think some part of me knew.

Until I couldn't eat a hot dog. I know there are a lot of people out there, with the emergence of the health food movement and the obsessive-compulsive dieting, who never eat hot dogs, but I love them. Once a week, I used to walk two blocks down the street from my office in downtown Phoenix and buy one from the stand that sold the best hot dogs I'd ever tasted in real life. (No, I've never been to Gray's Papaya. Forgive me.) Albert, the old man who ran the stand and asked me on a date every time I visited, despite my (then) boyfriend and the fact that he had thirty years on me, told me it was because he was Polish. I don't know if they even have hot dogs in Poland, but to secure my weekly fix, I'd listen to whatever bullshit Albert wanted to sling at me.

One Tuesday, thirty-seven weeks ago, I bought my hot dog as usual. I thanked Albert, told him I'd think about dinner and a movie and began my walk back to the office. I brought the hot dog to my mouth, but before I got the chance to taste it, my stomach churned and a wave of nausea hit me so intensely my vision went temporarily dark. I stopped on the sidewalk and clutched my stomach, cursing. Didn't it know this was my most beloved lunch of the week? Apparently not, because when I tried a second time, I actually threw up on the side of the road. Classy, right? The nausea passed as quickly as it had come but only after I'd given up on my hot dog. I didn't give it a second thought until I mentioned it in passing to my co-worker when I got back to the office. And she said the "P" word.

Then I remembered that night. It was like one of those montages in a movie when the character flashes back to a night of passion--kissing, licking, touching--except it was set to the music from Friday the 13th.