After hearing the weather forecast for the rest of the week and realizing my oldest owns exactly one sweater, I decided to cram all of the offspring into the van after homework was done and head to the mall. Usually the last place on earth I'd want to be in the afternoon hours, I was willing to work through my four o'clock slump (which I am trying to deal with sans caffeine lately in an effort to partially lessen my dependency on legal, mood-altering substances in order to deal with my children) since Hubby would be late, yet again, dealing with this new work project and I figured feeding the kids their favorite meal of chicken nuggets and french fries in the food court had no chance of devolving into an exhausting, bargaining contest ending with the usual "broccoli for cookies" exchange.
After braving the perils of the parking lot with all three of them in tow, "Hold onto the stroller!!!", we exploded into Old Navy on the hunt for warm clothing. Squeezing the stroller through the tight aisles with the baby, arms akimbo, joyfully leaving scattered displays of acrylic fleece mittens in our wake*, we reached our destination and #1 began slipping sweaters on to make sure none we purchased were "scratchy".
Successfully talking her out of any items involving faux fur trim, my first-born pulled a size medium fleece hoodie over her head and when I declared it too small she excitedly replied, "You mean I got bigger?? I get to wear a bigger size??? Yay!" I laughed at the sheer joy the expansion of her being brought her and mourned, in advance, for the loss of this pride that was to come, despite my best efforts to sheild her from all the body-hate that's out there. I marveled at the enormous difference between her reaction and mine were I in the same situation. Let the self-flagellation begin!
It's such a tragically short time that girls get to feel this way about their bodies. I remember being actively excited when I found out I broke the one hundred pound barrier during the annual gym class weigh-in in eighth grade. To be bigger was to be older and stronger, less of a little girl, and closer to what I was sure was to be my exciting life as a grown-up wearing lipstick and high-heels everyday (we see how accurate that prediction was).
It turns, at some point, for most women - I don't say all because I hold out hope someone out there has escaped this trauma and has the all the answers for me - but for now it brings me nothing but happiness to see how my girls love watching themselves expand and take up more room in the world around them, urging their bodies to catch up to their dreams and expectations. And it begs the comparison to adult women in the dressing rooms around them, scrutinizing their flaws and wishing pounds away.
I'm not saying we should use this thinking as an excuse to actively pursue moribd obesity or justify eating a dozen donuts at a time (that, my friends, is a God-given right), but wouldn't it be awesome when you do have one of those days your jeans don't fit to not feel like it's a moral failure?
I'm just sayin'.
*Do they not know who their target demographic is? I excuse Banana Republic for packing the inventory in, but if you sell infant clothing for under ten dollars, you'd better expect a few double-wide strollers to come rolling through - layout your stores accordingly or expect wreckage.
1 comment:
As with yours, in my daughter's class, the bigger you are, the better. My little undersized, never on the charts peanut is forever upset that she is losing out on this contest. My husband wants to tell her that 10-15 years from now all of her friends will be jealous of her petite frame and huge metabolism, but like you, I don't want to introduce self-esteem/body issues quite yet. Well, most of the time - on the days they tell her she can't do/be something because she is too small, I want to tell her those girls will get theirs when they hit freshman year of college. Thanks for once again blogging about the things that the rest of us moms are living on daily basis but not able to put in such perspective and humor.
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