I am a scale. Sleek and polished. I rely on numbers, but numbers only tell a part of the story.
I reveal weight. I track it over time. Ups and downs, gains and losses. But it is just a number. Pregnancy weight, added and subtracted. Depression battles won and lost. Over time the chart of check-ins formulates a crooked path.
I draw out misery. Pounds and fractions of pounds and sighs of frustration. Cringes at the story that a scale doesn’t tell. Just a number.
There were other numbers. Other units of measurement. Hcg levels. Heartbeats. Statistics. Number of weeks. Number of hours. Length of contractions. Dosage of pills.
A scale is also balance. Weight can be added to either side. Some days, I feel heavy under the weight.