"High five for mommy! 104! I haven't weighed that since I saw Pearl Jam," exclaimed the svelte adorable mom to her toddler who cheered along from her perch in the supermarket cart. I stood behind her waiting to weigh myself and watched her triumphant moment, which may have caused me to throw up in my mouth. Did I really witness that? Are we not more evolved?
I found the scene so upsetting on so many levels. Was it the fact that this fit little chick weighed 104, a number I haven't seen since since I saw The Bangles? Or the awareness that this little girl was receiving a message that could change or define how she sees herself in years to come?
Of course, this immediately led me to that introspective place all moms go:
Have I said things to my own daughter that would lead her to believe she needs to be skinny to be happy? I mean, if I'm being honest, I'm quite sure I've asked my hubby a thousand times if things make me look fat, and I mean anything, from, "Does this new dress make me look fat?" to "How about this new toothbrush?"
As a gen Xer, I recall the age of fad diets and fad workouts. I remember my own mom, who was always a bit overweight, trying so many different things -- to no avail. I can picture Jane Fonda and how she rocked her sweatband, Richard Simmons sweatin' to the oldies, and Susan Powter telling everyone to "stop the insanity" while touting the benefits of eating like a gazillion baked potatoes a day.
I was in college when Kate Moss brought us the "waif look," and I embraced the way my double As added to the whole "heroin chic" thing I had going on. Look, if that's what it took to see Marky Mark without his Calvins, I was in. Yes, I got the messages the magazines, the stars, and the gurus were selling -- loud and clear. I needed to be thin ... nay, to be skinny. If someone were to say I looked like I should put on a few (out of concern), I'd have done a cartwheel on the spot (heck, I might still do it). Look, I said I would be honest with you, and I am!
That said, I feel that I've gone to great lengths to focus on health when it comes to body image as far as my kids are concerned. We are huge fans of The Biggest Loser and I'm always so careful to describe the contestants as beautiful from the start of the process to the end. My daughter seems to be on board, telling me how attractive she thinks so and so is (while so and so still weighs 300 pounds). I talk about how being that overweight can be so detrimental to your health, hoping that she will want to be in shape for the right reasons. And I never use the term "skinny."
Which is why I was so surprised the other day when my 8-year-old daughter asked for fried dough at a carnival. It wasn't that she asked for something void of anything healthy, she does that all the time, it was how she responded when I said, "No, I think you've had enough junk for one day."
"Mom, I'm skinny, I can eat junk sometimes without you worrying about it so much." I couldn't figure out where this reasoning came from. Had I ever given the impression that my attempts at keeping us healthy was about maintaining a certain weight? Had I somewhere along the line done the triumphant mommy dance over a pound or two (without even getting to see Pearl Jam, no less)?
Maybe I had, maybe she'd heard this at school, on TV, in a movie, from a friend, during a clothing campaign. That talk will be out there, tween stores will have little models wearing padded bras in their catalogs, the messages our kids receive won't always be in line with our own.
As unexpected as her statement was, it was the perfect opportunity to reiterate my message: that skinny doesn't necessarily = healthy or beautiful (no matter what my own screwed up inner psyche has to say about it). So I did, and I'll continue to do so because I have to make sure the positive messages drown out the negative ones. I owe that to her.
Did you ever chat with your daughter about weight?
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