Bellies so many

Tara ran her hand over her stomach. Hard, ripped, defined lines, everything a stomach should be.

Suzanne ran a hand over her belly, her pot, her bringer of life. Her belly was done, the timer had popped up and it was time to take it out.

Janis ran a hand over her stomach, her gut, her pooch. Soft, yielding, everything a stomach shouldn't be. But her daughter loves the feeling of safety it provides when someone she doesn't know tries to talk to her. It is a place to hide her face when she feels shy, it is her sanctuary.

Rose ran a hand over her stomach, troubled again. Would food ever sit well with her again or would the sickness take her long before that?

Nayla ran a hand over her distended stomach. Pushed out in starvation, it was misleading. Her insides were swollen from malnutrition, not from being overfed.

Angie ran a hand over her stomach, or the few rolls that made up a stomach. Would the faint red lines ever fade away? Would she ever find the time, the drive, to work her rolls away? Would she ever accept that this is how she looks and go out in public again? She'd love to see her daughter's play in person.

Kathryn ran a shaky hand over her stomach. Flat, but flappy. She'd lost too much weight, the doctors weren't going to like that, her children weren't going to like that. They'd try to make her eat again. More it's always one more, one more bite of jello, one more roll, one more chunk of chicken. One more appointment, just give us one more year with her.

Julia ran a hand over her belly and gave it one loud smack. Giggling, she showed her younger brother what she could do. He tried to do it too, but her bigger belly made the louder noise. The whole beach, her favorite place, could hear her belly smacks.