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I Got Rid of the Bathroom Scale

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Monday, August 20, 2012

I Got Rid of the Bathroom Scale

For years, I've had a love/hate relationship with my bathroom scale.

I love it when it tells me how awesome and successful and skinny I am (because that's how awesomeness and successfulness and skinniness are determined, right? By a scale?).  I hate it when it tells me something I don't want to hear.

It turns out, my scale really liked to bring me down.

I'd spend all weeks counting points and entering meals into the latest weight loss app I had installed on my phone.  Then Monday would roll around, and I'd think, "Gee, I shouldn't have eaten all those doughnuts yesterday, and probably should have said no to the extra sauce at In-n-Out and WHY did I eat that chocolate when I was already so full to begin with?"  But since I had been good all week - snacking on delicious treats like carrot sticks and celery smeared with low-fat cream cheese - a few little mistakes on the weekend shouldn't have mattered, right??


And my scale would taunt me.  It would say things like:

My day would be shot.  My chipper, "it's-Monday-and-I'm-ready-to-eat-well-and-exercise" attitude would fly out the window and before I knew it, I'd be drowning my sorrow in a giant chocolate chip cookie from Starbucks.  And a cake pop.  And sometimes, maybe a muffin, too (because their muffins are gooood, ok?).

One day I realized how ridiculous this was.  How I was letting a little number on a scale dictate my mood and motivation for the day.  How quickly it could bring me down and turn me into Super Grump.

I remember a few years ago my friend Jesika got rid of her scale.  She'd tell me she didn't know how much she weighed, and I thought, "Is she smoking crack?  How can she not have a scale?"

But then one day, Charles mentioned that he wanted to get rid of the scale.  You see, every Monday, he and I would weigh ourselves, and depending on the number that would finally settle between our feet, our moods for the morning would be determined.  Happy, or grumpy.  Just like that.

So, he wanted to throw the scale away.

But I wasn't ready.  I balked.  I whined.  I insisted that I needed to know how much I weighed once a week.

And then one day, the scale was gone.  Charles had offed it.

And I

Guess what?  I don't miss knowing how much I weigh.  It's not important to me anymore (really, it's not...and now it seems silly that I ever cared).  I don't miss comparing my post-two-babies weight to the weight-I-haven't-been-since-I-got-married (which, technically, I haven't been since I got married...which means I've been pining over that long lost weight for almost twelve years now!).

And you know what else I don't miss?  Grumpy Mondays.

Following the Scale Apocalypse, I also started eating healthier.  Not dieting...just making sound choices and eating things that were good for me.

And then one day I noticed that I was feeling skinnier, and in a moment of ridiculous bravery, I pulled out some pre-baby shorts.  The kind that come from the Gap and have a real zipper and nary a stitch of elastic.


Like, actually fit as well as they fit before I had the baby (which, truth be told, isn't that great...but still, it meant I could now wear a pair of non-maternity shorts in public!).

A couple of weeks later I had a doctor's appointment.  They weigh you at the doctor's office.  It was in the afternoon and I was fully clothed, so my expectations were set very (very) low.  So imagine my shock when that blessed scale told me I weighed a few pounds less than I had anticipated.

I don't know...maybe it was scared.  Maybe word was out on the street that if it didn't tell me what I wanted to hear, it wouldn't be around for long.

Not my actual scale.  Because I don't have one.  I made my mom take a picture of hers and send it to me.
I won't be replacing our scale anytime soon, if ever.  I don't need to know what I weigh or how much weight I have (or haven't lost).  It's just not important to me anymore.

Besides, I have another doctor's appointment coming up soon.

And that scale better be nice (or else).



At August 20, 2012 at 6:06 PM , Blogger Kasee said...

You have motivated me to take the batteries out of mine. I can't bring myself to throw it away. Yet. But without batteries, it can't taunt me, right?

Ahhhh ... the smell of sweet freedom. Or is that the cookies baking? What? I used coconut sugar instead of processed white sugar.

At August 20, 2012 at 7:54 PM , Blogger Julia P F said...

I want to! But I'm scared... It's been my frienemy for years!!

At August 21, 2012 at 8:57 AM , Blogger Carrie said...

Baby steps, Kasee. Baby steps!

How were the cookies? You know, you can send some to Texas ANYTIME YOU WANT. ;)

At August 21, 2012 at 8:58 AM , Blogger Carrie said...

Do it! You won't miss it. I promise. Or you can start small, like I thought I did. My husband told me he put it in the garage. A few weeks later I told him to go get it (to weigh my son, actually) and he confessed he'd tossed it.


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