That’s what the scale said a couple of days ago when I last stepped on it.
I love it.
It’s only about 15 more pounds than my lowest weight over the past decade or so. That was just before my wedding, of course.
It’s about 35 pounds less than I weighed a week after Oliver was born. And less than 10 pounds more than my pre-pregnancy weight.
It’s just under the line of obese to overweight. (If you’re into that BMI stuff.)
Most importantly, it’s progress.
164 is self love. It’s hard work and finding balance. It’s breastfeeding and finding nutritious food that doesn’t make my son sick. It’s keeping up with a toddler and her constant desire to play soccer.
It’s patience. It’s remembering that with Nora I didn’t even start to lose the baby weight until well after her first birthday. It’s keeping on, finding a couple of minutes here and there, and moving my body with energy I’m not convinced I actually have sometimes.
It’s perfection. Or it might as well be, since it’s an ideal that no one ever achieves. I truly love where I’m at, and where I’ve been, and where I’m going.