A few weeks ago, the boys had their check ups. The Big One has been dying to break 100 for over a year. He is 5' 6.5", and finally weighed 100 lbs at his 14 year check up. He stepped off the scale with a "YES!"
I still remember the day I hit 100 lbs. I was a senior in high school. I was 5'7" and weighed under 100 lbs. And I was proud of that fact. I was hoping to never hit three digits until getting pregnant some day. Then, in the middle of my senior year, I stepped on the scale and it said 100. I cried. And didn't eat for days. Took diet pills. It truly bothered me.
I was never the pretty one, or the smart one, or the funny one, or the cute one. I was the skinny one. It was how I identified myself, and how others identified me. Not being skinny scared me. A lot. It was who I was. I wore a size 0. If I had to buy a size 2 I was disappointed in myself.
By the time I graduated, and left for college, I weighed 105 lbs. When I came home for Christmas, my mother and I went shopping, I had to buy new pants. Size 4. We went to the food court for lunch, and my mother commented on my food choice, saying "What, do you want to have to buy a size 6?"
The scale over the next 3 years crept up, and up. Little did I know, I had grown 2 inches and was now 5' 9". When I went for my first prenatal appointment, at almost 21 years old, and 4 months pregnant, I weighed in at 118 lbs. At the end of the pregnancy I was 60lbs heavier. Luckily, I lost the weight quickly. 122 lbs by the time The Big One was 6 weeks old. A few times my weight would go up, and one of my parents would kindly point in out to me ("It took your mom three kids to get that big...") and I would make sure to get it back down to below 130 again.
When I found out I was pregnant with Bubba, at the age of 28, I was up to 127 lbs. And again gained 60 lbs. This time, it took almost a year, but got down to 125 before his first birthday.
Over the past 6 years I've yoyo'd up and down, getting down to 120 several times. And panicking any time I go above 130.
I admit, I step on the scale several times a week. And on bad days, several times a day. I love seeing the numbers go down. And in the back of my mind, even though I know it is irrational, I would love to see them go all the way down to 100 again.
I still remember the day I hit 100 lbs. I was a senior in high school. I was 5'7" and weighed under 100 lbs. And I was proud of that fact. I was hoping to never hit three digits until getting pregnant some day. Then, in the middle of my senior year, I stepped on the scale and it said 100. I cried. And didn't eat for days. Took diet pills. It truly bothered me.
I was never the pretty one, or the smart one, or the funny one, or the cute one. I was the skinny one. It was how I identified myself, and how others identified me. Not being skinny scared me. A lot. It was who I was. I wore a size 0. If I had to buy a size 2 I was disappointed in myself.
By the time I graduated, and left for college, I weighed 105 lbs. When I came home for Christmas, my mother and I went shopping, I had to buy new pants. Size 4. We went to the food court for lunch, and my mother commented on my food choice, saying "What, do you want to have to buy a size 6?"
The scale over the next 3 years crept up, and up. Little did I know, I had grown 2 inches and was now 5' 9". When I went for my first prenatal appointment, at almost 21 years old, and 4 months pregnant, I weighed in at 118 lbs. At the end of the pregnancy I was 60lbs heavier. Luckily, I lost the weight quickly. 122 lbs by the time The Big One was 6 weeks old. A few times my weight would go up, and one of my parents would kindly point in out to me ("It took your mom three kids to get that big...") and I would make sure to get it back down to below 130 again.
When I found out I was pregnant with Bubba, at the age of 28, I was up to 127 lbs. And again gained 60 lbs. This time, it took almost a year, but got down to 125 before his first birthday.
Over the past 6 years I've yoyo'd up and down, getting down to 120 several times. And panicking any time I go above 130.
I admit, I step on the scale several times a week. And on bad days, several times a day. I love seeing the numbers go down. And in the back of my mind, even though I know it is irrational, I would love to see them go all the way down to 100 again.
Comments