I had my appendix out when I was in 6th grade and now sport a very small and barely noticeable scar. I often forget it’s there. Until today.
This morning I happened to catch a view of my belly I don’t normally get, and it appeared as though my scar was spreading. But not horizontally – vertically.
“That’s odd,” I thought.
I felt it. It definitely felt like scar tissue.
I wandered downstairs to see what Rich thought.
“See there?” I pointed. “It seems like my appendix scar is spreading. Does that seem odd to you?”
He paused, but only for the merest hint of a second.
“I think that’s a stretch mark.” I quickly glanced at it again. “Sorry, honey.”
Dammit, I thought. He’s right.
And also: How dumb am I?
I didn’t get stretch marks when I was pregnant with Connor. I figured it was either good luck, good genes, or the massive amounts of water I drink. In any case, I may not be so lucky this time. (11 weeks to go – what are the chances it stops with that one?)
My oh-so-helpful husband offered to look to see if I had any others. I glared at him.
No thank you, honey. I think we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened.
