I Weigh One Hundred and Twenty-six Pounds.

I weigh one hundred and twenty-six pounds. And that, is new.

In the words of my father, I have never weighed more than a buck o’ five in my life. I’ve always wanted to weigh more. I’ve always wanted to be more curvy, but I was skinny and always had been. I took after my grandmother. She was a small woman. I remember her being no more than five feet tall. And though she was small she commanded power and possessed so much strength. I took after her, which was odd because all of the women in my family were curvy. On my father’s side, they have massively large breasts. On my mother’s side, they had hips and body. And there I was still trying to fill out size zeroes in the junior’s section well into highschool.

I had an athletic figure. I presented as tone without really trying, though I attribute that to my being active growing up. My mother made me a deal: I could pursue any form of physical activity I desired so long as I was in sports every year. From age five I was in cheerleading, swimming, basketball, track, tennis and dance. In college I worked out not to control weight gain; I actually lost weight in college due to stress. I wanted to see what my body could do. I got abs to see if I liked the look. I taught dance classes to learn new techniques and muscle control. I hated being sluggish. I loved being agile and flexible. But now I weigh one hundred and twenty-six pounds (that’s about a dozen more than what I have on my driver’s license) and it’s not because I don’t stay active or eat poorly. And I know that because it has all gone to the right place: my butt.

I weigh one hundred and twenty-six pounds and this is exactly what I asked for. I asked for a butt. I asked a Sir Mix-a-Lot willing Jesus for a booty and got one. As a kid I couldn’t understand why every woman who I was surrounded by was given curves and why He gave me none. Would I never mature into what a Black woman is expected to resemble physically? Was my being a stick my life’s burden as a woman because I didn’t like Popeye’s or potato salad? Maybe. So I accepted that and being slim became apart of my identity. And then, out of nowhere, came this rebirth and I’m dealing with that. On one hand, I like it. On the other is the realization that I’ve gained weight.

Growing up being made fun of for being small in the age of video vixens hurt, but it made me understand that my bullies were upset at my size. I could wear whatever I wanted, no matter how short or tight, without losing that innocence of childhood. Their bodies were those of women as children, so there were restrictions. As we got older, and their weight gain began to become a problem, they coveted my size. And subconsciously, my later encounters with them made me fear gaining weight. “Girl, I hate that I’m getting fat now.  I can’t fit anything cute!” “Nobody likes a chick with a gut.” “Ha, you’re lucky ’cause you’re skinny.“

I believed that I was going to be small. I am in good health. My metabolism is great. All of this is important, but I want to accept the fact that my body is changing and has changed. I want accept that it is not feasible for me to be curvy, five foot five and one hundred and ten pounds. I think that the underlining problem is the number on the scale. I hate that the sum of three number is tripping me out like this, especially because I don’t have the typical body that others would assume is close to 130. To me, they’re either these shorter, beautifully thick women or super tall model types. But if I have a heavy meal and am on my period that is how much I can weigh. That is crazy to me.

I would love to be under 120. I would be nice to maybe have abs again to see if I can see get them in only a few months like I did college. Conversely, I am not sure if that’s something I would truly want at this point. For now, my focus is trying not to struggle with accepting my new body as it expands. This evolution in my womanhood feels like my second puberty: I am happy but genuinely afraid of change. My hips are filling out and my butt looks amazing. I look good naked. I feel good naked. And three numbers fuck with me.

I weigh one hundred and twenty-six pounds. And that, is okay.