My Daughter Saying She’s Fat is Way More Disturbing Than Her Saying The Other ‘F’ Word
Honestly, what has this world come to for our children? I donâ€™t think I worried about being fat ever, except when I was pregnant and during the six months that followed after giving birth.
At ten, my daughter should be worrying about, well, I think nothing at all, except for maybe getting her school work done, keeping safe, and not pissing me off.Â So what did I do?
Well, as soon as we arrived back to our condo, we took off our dresses. We stood before a full-length mirror, her in front of me. â€œDo you think Iâ€™m fat?â€ I asked her. Her answer was â€œno.â€ I am, honestly, only slightly wider than her, which I pointed out. â€œSo if Iâ€™m not fat, then how can you be fat?â€ I demanded.
It seemed to satiate her, but I was in such a state of depression, I wanted to eat an entire cheesecake. (Which, of course, I did not say aloud!)
But now Iâ€™m super aware.Â I donâ€™t even make jokes like, â€œIâ€™m too fat to sit in this tiny airplane seat!â€ I will never, and never have, pointed out obese people to her.
Since she asked that one time, a couple weeks ago now, she hasnâ€™t asked again, which means maybe sheâ€™s no longer worried about it. Maybe it was a one-off?
I sure hope this is the case, because quite frankly, having a ten year old girl, ask if sheâ€™s â€œfatâ€ makes me want to punch something and sob in a curled up ball.
I suppose I could have yelled at her to, â€œNEVER ASK ME THAT AGAIN!â€ but I didnâ€™t want her to think that she couldnâ€™t always ask me anything, without me screaming at her.
Truly, I rather her ask, â€œCan I say â€˜fuck?â€™â€ than hear her ever ask me again if she is that other F-word, because the latter is so, so much more disturbing.