I know what I weigh...

...because I asked. And the doctor told me.

It's not as much as I thought. In fact, it's a lot less. However, it's not necessarily a good thing to know.

The first thing my mind did was calculate: 1 more pound until...1.5 pounds until....5 pounds until...10 pounds until....

Then I stopped. Have I been okay with not knowing? I've wondered. But I've not gone to a store or hunted through the house to find the scales. My clothes fit ok. I feel healthy. I know that I am eating nutritious foods in appropriate amounts at appropriate times. So if I'm doing and knowing all that, not knowing my weight could be ok.

Today I saw myself in a new mirror. In a bathroom I'd not been in before. I've had this happen in the past where I catch myself in a different mirror and the change in the setting lets me SEE ME as I really am. Today, I looked pretty normal. I looked small. I looked ok. And that me so goddamn happy I had to tell everyone. An hour after the revelation, when I wasn't feeling so euphoric, I was thinking about how I was standing. I was considering how it felt to have my feet firmly planted on the ground. I was pondering what I must look like. Then the doubt crept in. But I also quickly realized there was NO WAY I could have changed that drastically in an hour. I had to look exactly the same way I did 60 minutes before. And since I was ok with that, I was ok with how I looked at that later second. I think I'm catching on.

Tonight with the trainer I could look in the mirror. I couldn't do that Monday. Tonight...I saw that same sassy girl from earlier in the day. I could really get used to seeing her on a more regular basis.