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Weight is a touchy subject for me. Even in high school, when I was a size three, I felt the need to tell people that if it weren’t for my butt, I could fit into a size one. I exercised all the time along with my active high school life. Tae bo was a regular routine for me, I did the tape more often than I ate.

When I was married less than a year after high school, I wore a size six wedding gown. I remember being so depressed that I had to get a six. And so embarrassed that my sister-in-law, who brought me to get my dress, knew how huge I was.

My first pregnancy I put on five pounds that I didn’t lose with the loss of the baby. With Fin, I gained a whopping 52 pounds, of which I only lose about 10 prior to getting pregnant with Dul. Dul and Belle’s pregnancies I gained only a few pounds which I promptly lost. However I was still overweight from the “baby weight” (my weight at that point but I just didn’t want to admit it) that I never lost from the pregnancy with Fin.

Now Belle is almost 17 months old and I still have that extra weight. I don’t own a scale for a variety of reasons. The main one being that in high school I would weigh myself religiously and if the scale had tipped up at all, I would stop eating. I still remember the summer after 10th grade. I gained a few pounds as I filled out into my grown up body. When I came back to school, my best friend who’d been away at camp all summer, took one look at me and said “Wow. Your butt has gotten big. You need to lose some weight.” I didn’t eat for two weeks, except when my mom forced me to at dinner every few days. On those days I did my Tae Bo tape over and over until I could no longer lift my leg to do the side kick.

When I visit my brother I step on his scale at least a few times each visit, hoping that the numbers will have somehow gone down from their alarmingly high number. Consequently I don’t enjoy any of the food or drink as I’m too worried about calorie content to actually eat much.

So, owning a scale is bad for my mental health. Because of that, I’m not sure how much I weigh. I do know that last time I weighed myself at my brother’s (a few weeks ago) I weighed…

Ok, let me just put this out there. This is really hard for me. I read an entry at Adventures of a Crunchy Wannabe where she admitted her weight and encouraged her readers to do the same. When I read it, I said to myself, “Hey. This could be your first step.” So I’m going to admit my weight and my current clothing size. Something I haven’t done since I was a size three.

Ok… Last time I weighed myself, I weighed… 170. I’d been fluctuating between 164 and 170 for a couple months. So it is possible that right now I weigh a little less since it keeps going up and down. But I’ll just go ahead and tell you that top number because the yo yo effect was probably because of water weight. My clothing size is a size 13.

It took me ten minutes to write that last paragraph. My weight and clothing size is something I’ve always felt a deep shame about, ever since I was in swim class when I was a kid and compared the size of my thighs to the other girls’ in the class.

So, my reasoning for writing this is not some confessional type of tell-all. I want to spur myself into action. My first step will be cutting out soda. I drink a ton of Coke each day. Starting today, no more soda.

Here I go. Small, baby steps towards a healthier (and smaller!) me.

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