The Weight of Contentment

After 40 weeks of pregnancy followed by 40 weeks of work and effort, I finally met my goal and attained my pre-baby bod. I’ve often heard that weight is more difficult to shed the older you get, and that’s the truth, girlfriend. So many times in this nine month process, I had to jump start my weight loss to keep my body from plateauing: I began running again, I completed two 30-day cleanses, I started attending a strength training class a couple days a week, and I eliminated the majority of gluten from my diet. Finally, with discipline, commitment, and patience, the baby weight is gone.

And so, here I am. Totally elated. Pants fitting. Dresses zipping. Bras not spilling. So what if I am on the high end of my ideal weight range? I am so happy to be within the range at all.

And then at the end of last week, I discovered a growth. Something I had never noticed before. Small, but definitely there. And all of the sudden, the weight loss, the beauty regimen, the discipline didn’t really seem to make a difference anymore.

At all.

So, I called a nurse and got an appointment. And didn’t tell another soul about it. Because to say something out loud is to acknowledge its existence and maybe silence equals renouncement.

Suddenly, this body I had trained and restrained in order to lose and prove had quietly betrayed me. And my infatuation with a number on the scale took a serious backseat to sober thoughts about the number of days I enjoy with my husband and children.

I spent the weekend with my family, savoring rest, watching my kids play with their grandparents, aunts, uncle, and cousin. And I realized that contentment isn’t the jean size I wear or the number on my bathroom scale. Contentment is showing up every day for my life, surrounding myself with beauty—a lit candle, fresh flowers, a fall sunset—and spending time with those I love most.

Yesterday I went to the doctor. And learned that the growth I found was completely unconcerning. My nurse practitioner and I shared a little chuckle about it, exchanged pleasantries, and said good-bye. I walked out of that office into the fall sunshine inside a body for which I have the opportunity, for the next fifty years, God willing, to care for and nurture and love.

Today, I’m going to head to the gym to run a few miles on the treadmill. And I’m going to drink lots of water and make a healthy smoothie for lunch. And I’ll begin to think about what to cook my family for dinner. Something that will make us feel all warm and cozy, because it’s supposed to rain and get chilly tonight.

But the most important thing I’m going to do today is choose to declare that my life is beautiful. That the body I’ve been given is beautiful. At any size. At any age. And I’m going to take care of it.