So far results are mixed. W absolutely adores zucchini. N is all about the corn and peas, sometimes a black bean will make it in there. A, with her various texture complaints, will eat something as long as it isn't touching, coated, near, under, or itself too mushy, crispy, crunchy, stiff or slimy.
Naturally, trips to the grocery store around 4pm mean one thing: long lines and long waits. I don't know about you, but for me the allure is unavoidable...I must look at the magazines. No matter how trashy, no matter how shallow, vapid or ridiculous the headlines, I have to read them. It's like putting me in the same room with a bar of chocolate...I'm going to find it, I'm going to devour it, and I'm going to feel bad about it afterwards. But one such piece of garbage headline did more than just incite annoyance and an eye-roll. This. This right here:
Another little not-so-secret about me: I'm not skinny. I'm on the plus-side of things, and I've struggled with my weight as well as my body throughout my entire life. I've felt many things ranging from pride to disgust and back again, since I was old enough to understand that my friend down the street was skinnier than me.
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| This age. This little girl toiled over how fat she was. Daily. |
I had a brief period of awesome when A was ages 3-5, then with pregnancies N and W gained and lost and gained again. However. This is not about my body image. This isn't about how I, in particular, feel about the number I see on the scale every morning. This is about alienating probably more than half of women in America and creating negative feelings within them by thoughtless, insensitive and disgusting commentary on a beautiful, talented, perfectly fine woman. I mean...*le gasp*...178 pounds?
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| Somewhere near 170. No shame, here. I felt and looked great. |
Best call the fire department to knock down a wall of my house so they can roll my fat butt off the couch and out to a gym, because if 178 pounds is "out of control", then I must be a veritable whale of a woman. I mean really, do they not understand that kids learn to read around the age of four and five, and these same kids are going to look to those around them (especially media giants) for things to base their ideas of beauty on?
178 pounds, a number my daughter will now quiver in fear of for the rest of her days, lest I can reprogram her from all these nonsensical and shallow standards plastered in grocery stores, on the T.V. and in her favorite clothing stores.
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| No, sweetie. Your worth is not based on how smooth your skin looks under that stupid bikini. |
178 pounds; an arbitrary number, just as stupid as the BMI concept. When I was 178 pounds I felt amazing, strong and fit. 178 pounds doesn't have to be twinkies and cheeseburgers, and so what if it is? 178 pounds can also be broccoli and baked chicken breasts with a glass of water, after an hour long workout at the gym that leaves you sweating and sore. In fact, once I hit 150 pounds (still overweight, according to BMI of course), my smallest, I kept losing pant sizes but never got below that number, save for a certain five days. You know what happened? I got so sick I couldn't eat. It took getting physically ill for me to lose weight beyond 150. And once I recovered, I bounced right back up, according to the scale, though my clothes never batted an eye, or a button, or whatever.
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| Overweight. And fabulous Ithankyouverymuch. |
They show a picture of her eating spaghetti; way to go paparazzo, you managed to snap a picture at the perfect time in order to destroy the self-esteem and self-worth of women all over the country. I hope you feel pretty great about yourselves. If a plate of spaghetti is out of control, best send me to fat camp because three days ago I made stuffed shells with pork sausage and dripping cheese. And you know what else? It was white pasta. I know. I'm a beast of a woman, with a voracious appetite for sugary high glycemic carbs. Out. Of. Control.
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| Quick, someone get this kid on weight watchers! |
178 pounds; maybe this is the reason more and more women are experiencing anxiety issues about weight gain during pregnancy, you know, that time in our lives that is supposed to be the most beautiful and cherished? But instead we're told a number that is unacceptable and we spend our entire lives, pregnancy, a weight gaining norm, included, on limboing under that ridiculous bar. I remember reading post after post comparing this weight to that, her shape to another's, your pant size to mine. Disturbing.
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| Gaining, but I still felt good about myself. Well, until I was reminded that I was over 178lbs. |
I sit there in line staring back at this headline as I can feel it sizing up all the curves of my body and judging me with it's dead, glossy-paged face. My cart is full of fresh vegetables and fruit, surely I'm not out of control today? But what about the other end of the spectrum? Am I letting society get to me to a point where I might be damaging my children? My N is a brute of a girl, a size bigger than her age, but hardly fat.
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| www.jessicakruegerphotography.com |
She's solid. She's strong. She's marvelous.
Am I going to give her the wrong idea if I shovel her plate full of healthy faire? Or am I truly just being a good mom, as I feel my intentions are aligned with good parenting? Am I going to create something in my A that should never, never be? Is she going to read between the lines and assume things that aren't even close to the truth? I mean, look at her...
178 pounds...it's obvious who the real out of control villain is, in this culture of ours. I am disgusted. I am turned off. I avert my eyes. I'd rather look at the beautiful, glorious women around me, the moms and the grandmas, the sisters, the aunts, the nieces and the cousins. Athletic, a little extra, a little less, right in the middle. The 120's, 110's, the 170's, 200's, and 300's alike.
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