At about the age of 8 I started to realize I was fat. Stirrup stretch-pants and oversized sweatshirts (and Keds) were the fashion trend of the time, but I didn't realize I was bigger around the middle than other girls until summer struck and I was forced to shop for shorts that buttoned. I remember going to Mervyns or JC Penney one day with my step-mom and trying on shorts and I was frustrated that I couldn't fit into the ones I liked. I remember storming out of the dressing room and running away from her at the store. She was so mad at me, and the next day my dad haranged me for running off and when I explained why I was upset, he matter of factly told me that I'm fat. This has stayed with me my ENTIRE life. I am a fat girl. Even when I wore a size 4 I was a fat girl. I probably was a size 4 for a long time after puberty, but I still bought size 12 shorts, because I thought that was the size that I was. I always wore oversized pants and shirts, because I thought I was fat and needed to hide it.
I have battled my weight in different forms since then. I have sort of come to some peace with my body type, shape, and weight, but what I didn't learn how to handle was my own son's weight. He is nearly 5 and he weighs 65 pounds. I have saved his older brother's clothes as hand-me-downs and he fits into the clothes that fit my oldest son when he was in 1st grade. Roman is taller than Dave was at this age, but he weighs significantly more than Dave did, too. Roman has always been big. When he was born he weighed 9 pounds, 5 ounces. When he was six months old he was wearing size 12 months. He is sturdy, stocky and just a big boy. I kept thinking up until he was 3 that he's just big, he's just a big boy. After 3 I realized he was actually getting pudgy, little rolls of fat developing around his middle. He has always had a very good appetite and there is very little food he doesn't like. I admired this about him, because he wasn't a picky eater and he was willing to try and liked things that other kids his age usually turn their noses up at. As time has progressed, I realize he is heavy. He asks for a snack immediately following lunch. Any time anyone is the kitchen, he comes looking to share. It kills me. It literally makes me ache to wonder how I can stop this. How I can stop him from being a "fat kid". And I am conscious that my own issues with being a fat kid are infiltrating my thought process. My husband says, "Stop feeling sorry for him. You're going to give him a complex before he has a chance to develop one on his own." I don't want my son to grab his belly when he's 32 and wonder, "Why the FUCK is *this* here?"
Yesterday the neighbor girl, being gracious, brought a basket with three bags of chips and the last of some powdered doughnuts over to share. It was right before dinner and we had just arrived home from a birthday party where Roman had enough cake, ice cream, nachos and candy for the week. When I wasn't looking, he stuffed a doughnut into his mouth. I cringed and told him dinner was soon and quietly took the snacks inside to the kitchen where they were out of sight. He loves to eat, I love to eat. I understand his need to taste. I understand his need to have things in his mouth. When he's not eating, I catch him putting toys in his mouth, sucking on paper, occasionally chewing his shirt. Wonderously, he has never sucked his thumb. I sucked my thumb incessantly as a child, and in private from age 5 to 11.
Roman is gentle, loving and very affectionate. I do not want to kill his tenderness by shaming him about his weight. I believe the shame I felt about my body killed my joy. It killed my happiness and is the largest reason I tend toward depression. The root of my sadness is always about feeling ashamed of myself. I want him to grow up happy and confident. I am afraid if I don't fix his fatness and steer him in the right direction, his tenderness will be killed by cruel kids at school.
Parenting is about maintaining a contented balance of nurturing with love and encouragement and not goofing up your kid's brain with the stuff that may still be goofing up your brain. So, I am trying really hard to encourage healthy food choices, to limit his intake of high-fat, high-sugar foods, and to tell him No, when I think he's had enough. Roman loves to be outside, he likes to walk, he likes to bike, he likes to play with other kids. He's not the fastest, he doesn't show too much competitiveness, he just likes to be around people and be part of the group. He may just be a big kid, and I'm OK with him being a big kid. I just want him to know how to shrug off rude remarks, or people making fun of him. I have heard that being overweight is different for boys than it is for girls. And as much as the inequality of that statement sucks, I hope that it's true. I hope that he is able to avoid the kind of peer punishment I suffered as a shy, socially awkward kid. Both my boys are sensitive, but for some reason I feel like Roman's extra padding absorbs more pain. Maybe that is a reflection of what I believe my fat does for me. My fat absorbs my pain, it absorbs my fears so that I don't have to deal with them. My fat is literally my baggage.
I know I am not my children and my children are not me, but it is really hard to to not blame myself for their challenges. I am their guide right now, I am on the lookout for their well-being. So, when my son wants to have a snack every hour or whenever he feels bored, I feel like I caused this in him. Because he sees me do that. And if I can't stop myself from going down a bad path, how can I stop him. I can't tell him, "Don't follow me," when that's exactly what he's supposed to be doing. And so I have to change my behaviors. I have to make better choices. And this is where it gets hard, because the choice to eat whenever the mood strikes and the choice not to exercise is where I feel safe. It's where I don't feel like I'm being pinned to conformity. Being fat is my rebellion. Being fat is a big "fuck you" to people who think I should be like them.
If I am truly going to give Roman, as well as Dave and Nora, the ability to go forth on their own journeys with gusto and self-confidence, I guess I have to give it to myself. I guess. But sitting here right now, I am so overwhelmed with all the shoulds of life that the last thing I want is another "should". Because that's where the rebellion comes from. If you tell me I "should," or it "would be better" if I, then I will tell you to go fuck yourself. The pressure of "should" makes me want to eat an entire bag of chips. I cannot pressure my kids or myself to do anything. But I will still put one foot in front of the other, going the way that I *need* to go. I read a good quote from a 90-something year-old woman who said, "Do what you need to do, not what you want." I remember thinking, Psshh, another person saying I "should" take care of business before my desires. But, that's not it. Sometimes my desire is my need. I need to clean the sink every morning and every night, because it brings me calm. I need to sit and read for 30 minutes a day, because it alleviates my tension. I may want to buy an $88 linen bomber jacket at Nordstrom, but I don't *need* it to make me happy. And maybe if I look at eating and exercise as a need and not a should, I can decide I don't need to eat when I'm not hungry, I can decide I need a walk around the block at night, just to get fresh air and to see the colors of the sky, and if I happen to burn some calories along the way ... Bonus.
