weights and measures

I didn't have a full length mirror my junior year of college.  Or a scale.  Just the mirror above the bathroom sink, and that wasn't much of anything.  It wasn't well lit. 

I wore what I had, mostly leftovers from highschool and a few things that I picked up while home for Christmas breaks or the occasional trip to the mall with Friends With Cars.  I probably made about $200 a week, so there wasn't much room for clothes in the budget.

It was the mid-to-late nineties.  A small college town in Southeastern Pennsylvania.   Heroin Chic was probably in style in other places, but no one I knew cared all that much.  We were all just happy to be comfortable and together.

I don't remember my pant size. 
I don't remember how much I weighed.
Or whether my friends were bigger or smaller than I.

Senior year I bought a scale. 
And a full length mirror. 
I tried to keep my weight between 130 and 135. 
My pants between a 6 and an 8.
I cared whether my shoes were right for my outfit. 
Whether things were flattering.
Pressed.
Worn.
It was a task.
A preoccupation.

The year after senior year I was married, and we moved to a house in South Philadelphia.  If you've ever been to South Philadelphia you know that mirrors are the number one selling point in a house for a large portion of the demographic who choses to live here.  Floor to ceiling wall to wall mirrors.  In as many rooms as possible.  The argument is that it makes the narrow row homes we have here look bigger. Wider. 
Classier.
Richer.
My argument is that it makes the people living in them feel bigger. 
Wider.
More insecure.
Obsessed.

People who were living at and visiting at the house stared at themselves while they were talking.  Watching television.  Listening to music.  Eating.  Living. 
It was creepy.
We were all being watched by ourselves.
We didn't look at one another.

The next house I lived in had no full length mirrors.
No scale.
And there was much rejoicing.

I don't remember my pant size.
Or how much I weighed.
Or whether my friends were bigger or smaller than I.
We were all just happy to be comfortable and together.

Then a number of years passed and I got a job where I had to look presentable and I started to get a little older and with age comes change and wardrobe requirements and the fear of turning up looking like that great big aunt you see once every ten years at family reunions that happen in towns with weird names outside of Pittsburgh and too close to West Virginey and the mirror went up and a scale was purchased and then I got pregnant with Jake and you are supposed to track your weight so I did and I watched myself go from 135 pounds to 155 pounds with that and then plummet to under 120 because I'm one of those people who just couldn't keep the weight on after childbirth and then I had to gain some back and that was a struggle that the doctor ordered to be documented so I did and then years passed and I was able to keep my weight between 130 and 135 again just like I did a decade before and then all of a sudden I couldn't so back to trying to gain weight and monitoring weight and now here I am pregnant again and my weight is monitored and documented and the size of my body is monitored and documented and the mirror and the scale are major players once again in my life.

I'm up 10 pounds from where I started almost 29 weeks ago.  Today I weigh exactly what I did on my wedding day 13 years and some months ago.  That's weird to think about, I certainly don't look the same.  The doctor says that's perfect.  People who aren't doctors say that isn't normal and I should be worried.  Other people who aren't doctors say that I'm lucky and I should be grateful.
I feel that 10 pounds is perfect and normal and I'm worried and lucky and grateful. 
The ultrasound shows baby is measuring a little bit big for his gestational age, but not so large that words like "diabetes" and "reconstructive post-partum lady surgery" are being thrown around. 
I do worry that I will have enough weight to support myself and my milk supply after this baby is born.  That was a struggle with Jacob.  But not as worried as I was last time because I know all sorts of tricks to keep on the el-bees and to make milk.  Avocados and nuts and beans and Guiness and fenugreek can be a nursing mother's best friends.

I think once this baby is born I will be putting a moratorium on mirrors and scales for awhile.  Return to my roots.  Live like I did when I was 20.  Minus all the basement parties and eyeliner. 
Well, maybe not all the eyeliner.

I read an article on the AP newsfeed this morning about a woman who avoided mirrors entirely for over a year in order to boost her self esteem.  I don't think I could do that, but I think I can do without the full-length mirrors and the 10x magnifying mirrors that make my pores and eyebrow hairs 10x bigger than they actually are as if there are people in my life who have vision that is 10x stronger than normal human vision staring at me in my face and making decisions on whether the people I love will live or die based on the size of my blackheads and the number of stray hairs on my brow (and upper lip, and cheek and chin and anywhere else they are cropping up these days).  I can do without the constant monitoring of how many pounds to the ounce I weigh.  Of the naked morning trips to the scale before breakfast but after pooping.  Just to get the most precise and scientific figure.

Last Saturday night I was out with a whole bunch of men.  And they were talking about weight.  In real actual numbers.  This one was up to 225 and this one was down to 210 from 250.  The other was at 185 but is trying to get to 175 and his friend was 185 and trying to get up to 195.  The big guy was hovering between 295 and 305 and noted that 305 at his age was not 305 at 22 and playing college sports.
No, no it isn't.  Nothing at this age is what it was at 22. 

Men talk about weight differently than women talk about weight.  I'm not sure why.  Men tell you what the scale tells them.  They throw out their poundage like it's nothing.  Women tell you that they are within 5 or 10 or 30 pounds of their goal weight.  As if it's socially unacceptable to speak in numbers.  Real Numbers are rarely discussed.  I'm not sure I understand that.
In certain social circles it happens with age too.
And shoe size.
Dress size.
Paycheck size.
It's all just numbers.
We shouldn't be embarassed of numbers.

Lots of men's pants have the size stamped on the outside of the pants.  Could you imagine the backlash from women if they had to go around with a number on their waistband?  Sales of belts would skyrocket.  No one would tuck in their shirts.  That's for sure.  I went shoe shopping for the first time in a long time this week.  I can sometimes fit the display shoe, so I flip it over and look for the number on the sole to see if it matches the number of my foot.  Not one pair had the size embossed on the bottom.  Now it's stamped super tiny into the lining by the heel.  Not even marked on the squishy insole part.
Vanity shoe labeling?
Who knows.

I'm not sure I have a point here.  Just know that if you come over to the house and the mirrors are draped, I'm not in mourning.  I'm helping our self-esteemage.
And the number on your scale has nothing to do with the number of hearts my soul draws around your name when I think of you.