N!cE ScARs...
'And how are you doing in this heat?' I playfully questioned as I looked down towards her bulging stomach. She was now seven months pregnant, standing in the shade of a picnic pavilion her husband had rented for his 'baby BBQ' - combination of a barbeque and traditional baby shower that I was invited to.
She smiled, and with a soft sigh she stated, 'I'm just ready for this all to be done. I think that...' her words trailed off as my focus shifted to her forearms. She had subconsciously crossed them over her belly and that’s when I noticed the numerous razor scars that adorned the inside of her arms. The scars were bloated and distorted, but unmistakably the result of razor. The scars had transformed from small little slices to elongated bulges, symbolically aging with her and following her throughout the various stages of her life. They were the physical remnants of emotional scars long past, scars from many years go - most likely in her teenage years. Now a woman in pregnancy, I began to ponder the significance of those scars. As she rambled on I thought about how she would present those scars to her child, how she would present those scars to her grandchildren and the girls at bingo and bridge when she became an old woman. Perhaps that's of little consequence given the scars were accompanied by a range of bizarre tattoos, including smiley faces, dragons, and an alien dressed up in a Sasquatch costume; the scars may be the easiest piece of body décor to explain.
I'd be lying if I said the scars didn't make me ponder the emotional weakness that they portrayed. Mothers, and grandmothers, are to be emotional rocks and beacons yet to fall into a set of arms covered in scars seems to send a more subtle message of vulnerability and frailty.
She smiled, and with a soft sigh she stated, 'I'm just ready for this all to be done. I think that...' her words trailed off as my focus shifted to her forearms. She had subconsciously crossed them over her belly and that’s when I noticed the numerous razor scars that adorned the inside of her arms. The scars were bloated and distorted, but unmistakably the result of razor. The scars had transformed from small little slices to elongated bulges, symbolically aging with her and following her throughout the various stages of her life. They were the physical remnants of emotional scars long past, scars from many years go - most likely in her teenage years. Now a woman in pregnancy, I began to ponder the significance of those scars. As she rambled on I thought about how she would present those scars to her child, how she would present those scars to her grandchildren and the girls at bingo and bridge when she became an old woman. Perhaps that's of little consequence given the scars were accompanied by a range of bizarre tattoos, including smiley faces, dragons, and an alien dressed up in a Sasquatch costume; the scars may be the easiest piece of body décor to explain.
I'd be lying if I said the scars didn't make me ponder the emotional weakness that they portrayed. Mothers, and grandmothers, are to be emotional rocks and beacons yet to fall into a set of arms covered in scars seems to send a more subtle message of vulnerability and frailty.