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Last weekend, my husband decided that we should be baby-less for a day. Between an 18-month-old who’s just discovered running and standing on things, a demanding full-time job, and my husband consistently working overnight and on weekends, I jumped at the chance to live sans baby if only for a few hours.

I immediately obsessed over what I would wear. The forecast called for a mild, low 80’s day, which meant we would probably be spending our quality time outdoors in the city. I decided to go for the perfect combination of sexy and relaxed, settling on a black fold over maxi skirt that he loves to watch my booty in, with a cropped tee — but not too cropped, because tiger stripes.

I showered and applied my sugar-cookie-scented shea butter mix, before heading to the bathroom to continue my grooming routine. I piled on some mascara and painted my lips with “Korean Candy”, one of my favorite summery hues. As I was reaching to coif my hair into my signature messy bun, my shirt rose above my waistline, just enough to expose my stretch marks. Instead of quickly adjusting it as reflex would have it, I paused and found myself admiring the way I looked. I saw sexy. The fold-over on the maxi accentuated my waist perfectly, and the angle at which my top exposed my stomach framed the perfect curve down to my hips. I saw the stretch marks, but they looked perfectly in place as I imagined my husband coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist as he usually does.

For just a hot second, I felt like I wouldn’t mind if my top just so happened to rise up and expose my stomach again during the day… around other people…strangers. For just that quick second, I felt a wave of body confidence that was new to me. There has always been some part of myself that I’ve tried to camouflage. It started with my chicken legs. As I gained weight and finally became satisfied with the perfect amount of meat on my bones, the stretch marks that accompanied them were the new bane of my existence, but those were barely visible to other people. These post pregnancy stretch marks? A whole new ballgame. They were dark, unsightly, and socially unacceptable to show.

I knew that I couldn’t — or wouldn’t rather — allow that part of my mid-section to show in public like that. It didn’t matter that I felt sexy, and dare I say confident with the scars that my body bears, but confidence can easily be shot down with one-to-many glares or side-eyes from others who don’t appreciate your confidence.

I admired my body for just a little while longer before I placed a final hair pin in my bun to secure it. True to form, my husband came behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, with his fingers softy brushing against my marks. I adjusted the waist band on my skirt to ensure that my scars would remain under wraps that day, and we headed out to enjoy the city. Maybe next time I’ll be brave.

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Nece Worldpeace is a Washington D.C. based communications professional who shares her adventures in boo-loving, mommyhood, passion and purpose, on her blog reallifeACTUALLY. She offers you the musings of a 20-something, unapologetic, married, mama, while making it clear that you don’t have to lose yourself in a sea of dirty laundry and spaghetti sauce the moment you become Mrs. Mom.