Object That Describes Me

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.