Weight.  Why is it that particular number nags at us ladies so?

My doctor and I have had numerous conversations wherein he has said that he isn't so much concerned about a number as he is the types of food I am eating and the exercise that I am getting.

And yet, that number.  It hangs over my head.

A few years back, when I really got my butt in gear and did something about my weight, I was sooooo concerned about a number.

This morning, while pawing through some old pictures, I found one I took of myself when I was at my lowest weight during that weight loss journey.  I looked at it this morning through new eyes. Eyes that were comparing myself to now, a great deal heavier ... heavier than ever, I might add. Suddenly, that number didn't seem so bad!  It seemed wonderful, in fact!

While at school this afternoon, helping my teammate with her classroom (loooooooong story there), I discovered some Spring pictures that our school secretary left for me to sort and get to the appropriate homerooms.  At the top?  My homeroom class picture.  I looked at that photo, and thought, "Who is that beached whale next to my kids!?"

It was me.

That number I had way back then?  It seemed like a distant memory ... a dream as I stared down at my fat body now.

Why is it that we are never satisfied with where we are at?  Why are we ruled by numbers?  Weight ... clothing size ... salary ... kids ... number of square feet in our McMansion?

Instead, I wonder what my life would be like if I focused on the number of days the sun shines?  Or the number of times I smiled? Or laughed?  Or the number of butterflies floating around me?  Or the number of favorite songs playing on the radio?

It is, after all, just a number ...


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