weighing on my mind…and belly

Last year about this time, I was desperately trying to gain some weight.  During the several months of hell before my husband and I separated I pretty much stopped eating.  I maxed out at one meal a day and a snack, plus lots of coffee.  The lack of eating combined with nursing was pretty detrimental to my health.  I dropped to 15 pounds less than my pre-pregnancy weight.  I hadn’t weighed that amount since I was 17.  I’m not a big person: I’m on the tallish side, but there’s not a lot of extra meat on my bones so losing just a few pounds can be pretty significant.

You’ll be glad to know, I’m sure, that I’ve gained back about ten of those pounds.  Yay me!

I bring this up now, because with the summer in full-tilt I am, of course, increasingly aware of what I look and feel like in a tank top, or shorts, or swim suit.  I don’t normally buy into the self-conscious mumbo-jumbo.  My body is just my body.  It’s all mine and I ain’t got another one so this is what you get to look at.  But after a year of being ultra-skinny and finally being able to find pants without a problem–because, guess what, not having an ass or thighs makes clothing shopping much easier because everything is sized for teenagers–and being told by many many people “you look great!” (At which point I would look at my pencil stick arms and shake my head in horror.  An underweight woman should not be considered looking great.) my chub is on its way back…on my belly.

This is new for me.  I’ve got one of those pear shaped bodies.  All the extra chub goes on my butt and thighs.  Small boobs, small arms, amazon legs, thick calves and a flat flat tummy.  I used to love my flat flat tummy.  Then it was full of baby, then it got soft for a while with the sudden absence of baby, then it went flat again (if we ignore the little extra skin that will never go away), but now it’s getting flabby.  I’ve never had a flabby tummy really.  And even though I’ve been trying to gain this weigh there’s this little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying, “You got more compliments when you were underweight.  Perhaps you should start drinking coffee again so you don’t have to snack as much.”

Don’t worry, I won’t do it.  I’m not dumb.  But here’s where we get to the point of this post, if someone like me, who is decidedly physically self-confident, and who is already slightly underweight in her height category, but is more physically admired when she is significantly underweight and actually humors the little voice in her head…what about everyone else?  And, more importantly, what about my daughter?  I have a mountainous task ahead of me: To help her learn to love her body for what it is.  To take pride in her shape, her form, her beauty.  To not rely upon others to tell her she is beautiful.

Here’s what I do so far, I can only hope it will be enough:

1. We play outside at least twice a day (weather permitting) and we always run fast and jump around when we do.
2. We take a class that involves dancing and jumping and running.
3. We encourage Avi to explore and be proud of her physical prowess.
4. When we compliment her beauty, we always follow it up by complimenting her bravery, cleverness, creativity, strength or smarts.  Compliments are never one-sided.
5. I say things like, “Let’s eat a good meal so we’ll have energy to go outside and play.  That cheese will give you lots of energy for running!”
6. I never talk about fat content or calories.  But we do distinguish between “energy” food like crackers, cheese, veggies and fruits and “treats” like ice cream, chocolate and popsicles.
7. The TV lives in the closet and is only pulled out for a special occasion round of Fraggle Rock or Enchanted.  We only watch for 20-30 minutes every couple of weeks.
8. Almost all of her toys are run entirely by kid-power and her imagination.  The three exceptions being a mini laptop, a couple irritating cell phones, and the fridge phonics that every toddler in the world owns.

And, most importantly, I think, I never talk about hating my body or feeling self conscious about myself.  We talk about how beautiful, strong, and silly we look and feel.  Someday, when she admits that she doesn’t like her nose or something, we’ll talk about how I don’t like my nose either, but I never changed it because it’s my nose and if I did then I’d be walking around with someone else’s nose and that made me feel sad to think about.

But, in the meantime, I’m still not liking this little bit of belly flab that has made its appearance.  I will someday.  Someday I will love it.  If not for my sake, I will learn to love it so my daughter will love her belly flab too.  I just don’t quite yet.