“We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for out journey” – Kenji Miyazawa

My over the top obsession with research has reared is head again, so much so I think I’m ready to write a thesis. Not only has “doctor google” managed to diagnose every little physical niggle with some ‘far out there’ condition, I have also revived my hunt for the best baby product currently available. I’ve already examined and sought the right advice on all my essential baby needs and have compiled a detailed list of my ‘must-haves’. Safety ratings for the top-end car seats, pram functionality and adaptability, along with all the latest safety studies on sleeping arrangements and gear. Never you mind, I haven’t forgotten about the smaller details either! My latest prey: belly balms.

Article after article I read glowing endorsements from stunning, unscarred, flawless celebrity mothers swearing by each and every product. Some have even designed their own specialty lines to take advantage of the outrages vulnerabilities of soon to be mothers. Seriously…? A tiny tub of belly balm promising to prevent any evidence of an overstretched belly is how much? I need the accompanying exfoliator too? It’s a joke, right? I sift through endless pages of lotions, creams and oils all promising that I too can look like Miranda. “The best way to avoid stretch marks is to use…” Ah, correction please. The BEST way to AVOID stretch marks is to AVOID a stretching stomach. End of discussion. 

Regardless, I know hydration (and genetics) is the key, and generally, it’s a good guide to stay clear from the highly marketed brands whom make their money by convincing the impressionable to pay up for the easily accessible ‘cheap and nasties’ (pie-o soil and charmers sound familiar?) With all those types out of the way, I’ve assembled a short list and now have to weigh up which products are worth the investment. Yes, an investment in the future ‘supple-ness’ of my post-baby skin (*Insert eccentric hysterical laugh here*) At the end of the day, I really don’t care if I look like a human zebra. I’m happy to join the belly stretched club, but it doesn’t mean I won’t give it a go to prevent it. C’mon, we all can be a little shallow sometimes. Luckily, water is free, and I drink copious amounts of it to satisfy my apparent unquenchable thirst. Hydration: tick. On the product front, the humble pantry coconut oil wins out (with a dabble in Bert’s Bee’s belly balm) and it’s been incorporated into my daily activities. Weet-Bix with preaches (think of the folate!), followed by my Pregnancy and Breastfeeding Multivitamin, accompanied with a thin layer of coconut oil rubbed onto the tum. Afternoon sees psyllium husk with liquid fish oil ending with a thick lather of coconut oil from neck to knee. What has my life become? I’m a high fibre, hydrated, oily ball.

Once this life altering decision has been made, I can now move onto the next thing on my list. It’s a never-ending cycle. You see, knowledge is power. The more power I have, the more control I can enforce. The more control I can enforce, the less likely anything can go wrong. It’s flawed logic, but it gets me through the days. You would think since the news has come out, that I now wouldn’t need to hold my breath, but I’m still starved of oxygen. Maybe I’ll catch my breath after the next scan? Maybe once I’ve reached 21 weeks? Maybe once he’s born? Maybe never?

It’s the 29^th January 2013. Today marks my official first day in my permanent role at work. Today marks my first public outing with my belly on full display. Today is my first practise of having it all together. Today marks the week a year ago when I told hubby I was pregnant the first time. Today marks my 26^th birthday. I never make birthday fuss and the greatest thing about your birthday falling on the first day of the school term is that no one remembers. But also, the worst thing about your birthday falling on the first day of term is that no one remembers. As I return home with my tiny violin playing on my left shoulder I don’t feel worthy of celebrating. I reopen my computer and I again resume my research … drown my sorrow with words… with information… with forums and discussions… drown out the fear, the disappointment.

I’m so alone… until… 

… that all so familiar feeling engulfs me. The little fluttering bubbles… a rolling tap that fills me with both dread and elation. Hello Little One. I lather my growing belly again in coconut oil. I smell delicious. Maybe I’m not so alone after all. 

 “For every woman unhappy with her postpartum marks, is another who wishes she had them”