Just Call Me Squishy

Twice this week my daughter has pressed on my belly laughing.

The first time, in her four-year-old innocence, she asked me, "Mommy, why are you fat?" I wish I could say I explained to her that some people had more fat on their bodies than others for a variety of reasons and that it was never ok to make fun of someone for being fat. Instead, after unsuccessfully deflecting the conversation, I became upset and cried. She became upset and ran off in tears. I hoped at least she learned a little about the power of words and that I learned I needed to temper my responses.

The lesson did not stay with either of us.

Today, she pressed on my belly and said "Mom, why are you squishy?" Pretty much round II of the same conversation.

So, she notices. Yep. I'm squishy. I'm fat. I never want her to know that it consumes me. That I feel like shit because of it. That I try very hard to work on it (I run marathons and if I could stop getting sick I might be on a more regular exercise schedule). That there are not enough hours in the day for ME because I'm too busy being mom, primary breadwinner, cook, etc. That my job consumes me and spits me out. That I eat because I'm sad or anxious or unhappy. And I desperately want it all to change.

When I am not sick with the latest pre-school crud, I have recently done a great job carving time out of my day to work out and have seen progress on the scale. Now that I am hopefully past the latest round (strep throat) I can resume.

I need to stop the tears in front of her. What am I teaching her? That people can hurt you because of what you look like? For calling attention to what you look like? What message am I sending to her about body image? I want her to have a healthy attitude about her body and herself (while still respecting differences in others). I need to change my attitude if she has any hope.