The Scale

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My daughter has never seen me weigh myself.

I would like to claim this is due to some intentionality on my part; an effort to protect her from attaching significance to the numbers on the scale.

But it’s a fluke.

Before she could walk, my husband moved the scale from a corner of our bathroom floor to the garage so he could weigh some backpacks before his Guys Weekend hiking the Appalachian Trail.

I never brought it back inside.

This does not mean I stopped using it.

For weeks, during that golden mid-day hour where both kiddos napped, I would run to take my shower.  Slip off my clothes, slip on my flip flops.  Tiptoe to the garage, ducking as I navigated storage boxes and dust bunnies, lest anyone catch a peek of my naked forehead through the high garage door windows.

And I would ever-so-lightly step barefoot onto that silver pedestal.  My wide eyes would shimmy up the emergency red needle and find my whole self crammed in the white space between the dashes.

Taking in the large print numbers, my problem solving would begin.

Minus one for big feet.

Minus one for long hair.

Subtract total from yesterday’s.

Then, I’d slip my flip flops back on, run into the house and pretend that never happened.

I wish I didn’t care about the number on the scale, but I do.

Usually, anyway.  Because, right now, I am in my second trimester of pregnancy and I have not weighed myself at home in months.  (The nurses do plenty of that for me.)

I am relishing this glorious reprieve from that dreaded red needle.  Because my answer in this season to “How much do I weigh?” is simply, “More than yesterday.”

As my body gets heavier, my heart happily sinks into a smaller and smaller number of life’s menu items.

I’m scooping deep, pressing down into a few people, ideas and dreams.  I’m tasting long and often of my favorite things.

Take away my days spread thin, in search of the perfectly balanced life.

There is new beauty appearing in this leaning over and pressing heavy into my family and friends, my passions, my Jesus.

Let these be the deep stretch marks I leave on this world.

*After a terribly long absence, I am overjoyed to be rejoining the talented writing group that meets on Mondays as part of Amber C. Haines‘ series, Concrete Abstractions, at www.therunamuck.com as she explores writing out spirit through the concrete things of life.  This week’s topic, SCALE.

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10 thoughts on “The Scale

  1. Thank you for an honest post. Yes, the scale can at times be our worst enemy. Come to think of it, it is so unnecessary to be bound by that red eye! If we live healthy, physically and spiritually, then we shouldn’t mind to much!! Thanks for your visit from Amber’s.
    Much love XX
    Mia

  2. I loved this entire post, but the last line, “let these be the stretch marks I leave on this world”. . . wow. That was powerful. So good to be here today.

  3. Thank you for this beautifully written, honest post and for your dear words left at my place. I especially loved the freedom in this line: “my answer in this season to ‘How much do I weigh?’ is simply, ‘More than yesterday.'” Bless you in these last months of your pregnancy. How I love meeting up with you again!

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