Six was the number of the day yesterday. I didn’t intend for it to be but it just turned out that way.

You see, over the last few days I’ve been able to notice that I have gained a little bit of weight. Not a lot, just a little. I noticed that my pants were fitting just a little bit tighter and my hips looked just a little bit bigger and I felt just a little bit heavier so yesterday I finally got up the nerve to get on our scale at work.

I weighed 141 pounds. The last time I weighed myself I was 135 pounds. I’ve gained 6 pounds.

I weighed myself in April. The last time I weighed myself was in October. It was 6 months ago.

See? 6 = the number of the day. Ugh.

I ate lunch. I didn’t want to. I felt fat but I knew I had to eat. My stomach was growling and I was hungry although I really didn’t want to eat anything, at all.

Then last night I was at home with my husband and, even though I knew he would tell me I was being crazy for worrying about 6 pounds and that I’m still beautiful to him and he’ll love me whether I weigh 100 pounds or 300 pounds, I still told him I had gained weight and was stressing about it. Naturally, I flew in to my normal panic mode which consisted of logic like this, “Ok, so think about it. I’ve gained 6 pounds in 6 months! That is 1 pound a month. If I continue to consume calories, carbs, fats, sugars, at my current rate then I am going to gain 12 pounds a year. Did you hear that? 12 pounds per year! Remember, I’m only 5’2″! I don’t have a lot of height be distributing that weight on. It wouldn’t take me long to be huge! Then you won’t be attracted to me anymore. Then you won’t love me anymore. Then you will leave me. Then I’ll be alone and lonely and heartbroken and …” and the look on his face shut me up. It was that, “Oh, you silly, silly, silly woman” look so I let my voice trail off and I just looked at him. He essentially said to me, “Ok. First, it’s not 1 pound a month. I mean, sure you gained 6 in 6 but a lot happened in those 6 months. (side note: A lot did happen! 1) We moved. 2) We moved twice. 3) New jobs 4) Halloween 5) Thanskgiving 6) Christmas 7) New Years 8) Valentine’s Day) and who knows how long you’ve been at 141? You might have hit that in December and then remained the same. You are beautiful. I love you and I love your body and I always will. I love the way you look. I love your curves and I love your stomach and I’m not attracted to really thin girls so please don’t try to lose weight. I’ll never leave you because of weight. Just be healthy, that’s what I want you to do so please eat and don’t stress about your numbers. You’re beautiful and I love you.”

♥ ♥ ♥ I love that man! ♥ ♥ ♥

Then I started feeling really foolish. I wear a comfortable size 6. I’m very healthy. I eat well and my heart is strong. I really had no reason to be stressing quite like I was and I did feel very silly. Why do us women do that? Why do we stress over every single pound, every single inch? Why do we regret every cookie? Why do we let ourselves be so controlled by these numbers. I’m not going to focus on numbers today…well…except for one.  Today’s number of the day is 11. 


11 = the number of months I’ve been married to the man that makes me always feel like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.  ♥


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