Tipping the Scales

In a country that has a mad obsession with weight (specifically, the need to lose it), it's interesting that in my house, we have the opposite scenario going on. Rather than trying to lose weight, I have a 12 year old desperately hoping to gain it.

My Chase has always been on the smaller side--except when he was born at a healthy 8 lbs 12 oz--so as his friends have shot up in height and weight in the past year, my guy has yet to crest 5 feet and every 10 lbs mark he surpasses is cause for celebration. When you're a lacrosse player, having everyone else bigger and taller does you no favors. Ah puberty--where are you? The moodiness has arrived; shouldn't the growth spurt come along with it? Get a little good with the bad? I'm feeling gypped at the moment.

The other night, Chase went upstairs to take his nightly shower and after the water shut off, I heard him calling for me: Mom! I need you to come here please!

So up I went, knowing this had nothing to do with needing help shampooing his hair or drying off since he's been handling this solo for quite a while. I walked into the bathroom and my still unabashed son was standing at the mirror in all his birthday suit glory, styling the hair. "I have to show you something," he gushed.

Hmmm, I thought. He's naked and excited about something worth seeing. Is this really something I want to see? I was leery. "Come here, come here," he insisted, whereupon he strolled (strutted?) over to the scale and stepped aboard. Our digital scale considered the new heft on it and ultimately pronounced him a whopping 91 pounds. A grin split Chase's face Cheshire-cat-style. He hadn't just hopped over the 90 lb mark, he'd gotten to a full ninety-one pounds.

He was thrilled; I was thrilled for him. And I thought: rare is the time you delight in seeing the scale inch up; we'll enjoy it while we can.