In Which I Gain 5 Pounds

I have recently and inexplicably gained 5 pounds. I've realized this on the very day the new swimsuit I ordered off The Internets arrived on my doorstep. This, of course, has provided me an excellent opportunity to build a ton character in the past 4 hours.

Anyway, I own a scale. I didn't for a long time and then after I had Odessa, I decided I didn't want dumpy, middle-aged matronhood to sneak up on me, so I was like, "Fine, I'll weigh myself every day and that way I'll see it coming and can do something about it if I feel it breathing down my neck, fixin' to pounce."

So, I bought a scale at Target, and I did weigh myself every day for a long time--probably about a year. And the thing is, I always weighed exactly the same, no matter what I did. So about a month ago, I stopped because I was bored of it. And then today I came home from a 4 day conference and saw my scale sitting on the bathroom floor and was like "Oh, what the hell," and then I stepped on it and was like "What the whuuuuh?" And then you know what I did? I picked the scale up and shook it and set it back down on the ground and weighed myself again. And hoooooo-law, ya'll--I nearly had a coronary infarction because that time it read a mere ten pounds lighter than I was when I gave birth to Odessa, and I actually screamed a little bit in the bathroom. And then I realized I had jiggled something loose when I shook it and had to re-calibrate the scale. After I did that, I weighted myself again, and sure enough, I discovered I've gained 5 pounds in a month. Yep.

And then the bathing suit arrived and I was all, "well, let's just do this." And, you know, the top fit great, but the bottoms? Mmmmmmm. Let's just say, I showed it to Bryan, and he gave me a look not unlike this one:

Except a little more nervous because telling one's wife how a bathing suit looks has to be one of the most horrible things a man will ever have to do. Anyway, Bryan looked like that for a full 30 seconds while I blithered about how I didn't like it, and then he asked me, "Well, what do you want it to look like?"

Which is an excellent question.

So, here's the thing: I just look the way I look. In my adult life, I have weighed much more than I do now (while pregnant) and much less (during some tragic breakups), but I think I was probably the only person besides my obstetrician and/or Virginia (whose hobby is monitoring family members' weight loss/gain) who actually cared.

Nobody cares how I look. Nobody cares or even notices how I look. Except me, I guess.

So, my point is, since nobody even knows how much I weigh, it doesn't really matter. I mean, for health reasons, I wouldn't want to go on a ham sandwich spree or anything, but I'm fairly certain I'm just as good a person as I was 5 pounds ago. Anyone reading this who doesn't happen to be a lady might consider it ridiculous that I would even have to struggle to convince myself of this. But anyone who does happen to be a lady knows that there's part of my brain that's screaming at me right now from the second story of a burning house: "OF COURSE IT FUCKING MATTERS, YOU GREAT BLUBBERY COW! FEEL BAD BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T START NOW YOU'LL BE 200 POUNDS BY WEDNESDAY! FEEL IT! FEEL IT NOW!" This is because all of us grew up reading Cathy comics and the backs of Special K cereal boxes. And we continue to, you know...look at everything. Really, just everything.

So, I feel a lot of compassion for the part of me who's freaking the hell out right now because I gained 5 pounds. But I just don't want to lose my shit over this. So I'm not going to.

Wish me luck.