Out of the Mouths of Babes

I have blogged before about young women's body image issues and how those changed for me as I got older. But, during a discussion with a friend the other day, we agreed that we didn't know a single solitary woman who didn't have some sort of issue with her body. Either in the form of food "issues" or body image "issues" or some sort of obsessive combo of both. We didn't know a single one.

We agreed that our issues had changed as we got older and mine have certainly lessened. Due in no small part, I'm sure, to having a husband who loves every inch of this somewhat...ummm..."softer" version of the woman he married and to having three children who were born from this body and seem to have turned out pretty spectacularly for it. But, really? Do you know a single woman who has not a care in the world when it comes to food or her body? We also discussed how hard we try to emphasize strength and inner beauty to our daughters. I have never referred to myself as "fat" or "big" when there is any chance of my children hearing it. When they ask me why I exercise or make a particularly healthy food choice, I always say that it is because I want to be stronger. Or less tired. Or have more energy. Never that I want to lose weight. I have a daughter who is influenced by her peers and is involved in competitive gymnastics. The last thing we need to start around here is an emphasis on body weight or size.

For my Mother's Day Sunday School lesson, I had the children make cards for their mother and fill in blanks to finish sentences. My mom makes the best______. I love it when my mom________. Some of them were hilarious! My mom has the prettiest_______. One little girl wrote "children." I love it when my mom wears _______. One little boy wrote "pajamas." Another little boy wrote that his mom "has the prettiest...shoes." He has obviously been trained well.

But the best one for me was One Fish's for "My mom has the prettiest..." She wrote, "body."

I got all teary. I choked up. I reported it to all my friends.

I haven't worked up the courage to ask her what she meant yet, and I probably won't. Because she might say that she meant that she loves my...arms. Or the way my rings look on my fingers. Or how I look in high heels (which she loves me to wear and which I hate). I am choosing to believe that she meant that I am her mom and because of that, she loves how I look and that she thinks it's just perfect. Soft size 12 and all.

And since I am convinced that she is one of the three most fascinating, brilliant, beautiful, impressive people to ever walk the earth, perhaps it would behoove me to sit up and pay attention when she passes judgement on something that she might actually know something about.

And I will start paying attention. And trying to see myself more as she does than how I do. I figure I only have about four or five more years before even my little toenail offends her, so I should probably start now. Or maybe right after bathing suit season...