eat me, drink me, bite me

long blog today – kind of weight loss journey – lots of issues to deal with here

New moms have a lot of aspirations for their kids. They start as inklings of hope—of healthy lifestyles, successful careers, good character. But one of the first things I thought of upon getting pregnant was this: I’m never going to let my kids get as fat as I am.

I’ve heard firsthand stories of mothers pushing their eating disorders on their kids, whether they be restricting or overeating. I’ve seen the results in children, from malnourishment to obesity.

I worry just as much that my kids will turn out fat as I do that I will push my disordered eating behaviors onto them.

A lot of my disordered eating at home happens in private. There is deception. I casually ask my child if he or she is done with dinner before I take the plate away, behind a closed door, and shove as many leftovers into my mouth as I can, over the garbage can like I hope that some will drop in and avoid my mouth. Sometimes it’s even half-eaten food. It doesn’t matter to me. And if there is any left, I will have to cover it up with other garbage to guarantee I won’t go after it later.

This is not okay. And yet the allure of doing it is so great it’s nearly irresistible.

It pains me to throw away that food (“Clean your plate” was something I grew up with, which in addition to poverty I directly attribute to this strange behavior). It’s like cheating on a test and knowing you will never get caught. The only damage it does is to yourself—to your own integrity and well being.

In the past there were a few times when I took the food before my child was completely finished—say they left it on the table to play and came back to find it gone. The first time I heard “Don’t eat my food, Mommy!” I started making very sure that they were done before I “cleaned up” after them.

I know this is behavior I cannot let them see. I don’t want them to wonder why I do it; I don’t want them to think it’s okay.

So I hide in my own house.

My kids have always been healthy eaters, but it’s not because they came out of the womb that way. I pushed them into fruits, veggies, raw foods, balanced meals, out of sheer fear that if I lost that control or if I didn’t impress these values upon them from the moment they weaned from my breast, they would become the fat kid I was.

I didn’t want them to endure the humiliation I felt at the taunts of my peers, the helplessness I felt when I couldn’t get any sympathy from my parents. The feelings that everybody thought there was something wrong with me because of my weight and the need to make up for that in any way possible, even compromising myself for attention. And then, the lack of self-confidence that spawned out of years of feeling inadequate compared to my thinner classmates, even my friends, that led me down paths I shouldn’t have tread.

And the secret eating. All the secret eating. I used to eat my grandfather’s fruit pies and my dad’s Cheez Whiz and his snack cakes, late at night or when home alone, and pretend they didn’t know they went missing.

They never said a thing about it, either.

In high school I once broke down in tears to my mom, so incredibly upset that I was overweight. I cried that I didn’t know how to fix it. My mother seemed blindsided and unable to assist. She told me I should exercise more.

This is not going to happen to my kids.

My son’s BMI when he was five was 17.83 (yes, down to the decimal) and the elation I felt was kind of sick, in a way. I patted myself on the back for it. Here was the evidence—he was a skinny kid, not a fat one.

I stress again, I never restrict my kids—every time they’re hungry, I feed them. Every time they ask I give them something to eat. But it’s healthy fare and we rarely go out to restaurants. We’ve talked about the consequences of eating too much restaurant food and a little bit about the consequences of overeating, but not too much. Because I also don’t want them to hate themselves if they do gain weight. I never want them to hate their bodies the way I’ve hated mine.

It’s a really tricky balance.

I’ve taught myself it’s ok for them to have treats. They don’t drink soda and don’t like it, which is a major accomplishment. I used to water down their juice 50/50 until recently, when calories became more important to my son. My kids are still eating out of their trick-or-treat bags from last year because they don’t care to gorge themselves (unlike me, who would go through her bag in two or three days).

My son’s BMI when he was five was 17.83 (yes, down to the decimal) and the elation I felt was kind of sick, in a way. I patted myself on the back for it. Here was the evidence—he was a skinny kid, not a fat one.

But we do “after dinner treat” which is a small piece of candy every night. At times I feel guilty about this, like I’m getting them into terrible habits. I struggle with the idea of food as rewards, knowing it’s not the best thing to do but doing it anyway because to me, what is the greater reward?

My son’s weight has become an issue. Five months ago a dietician told me he was eight pounds underweight. This is not either of our faults at all; he has food-sensitive sensory processing disorder, which means anything but bland, lukewarm, non-mixed food causes reactions like gagging because it overwhelms his senses. He used to only eat about ten things, mostly fruits and bread. After occupational therapy and food therapy, my son has since been on a regimen of gaining weight and trying new foods.

like this… which he would never touch a year ago

A big fear of mine, then, is that he will gain the weight he needs and then not stop at a healthy level. The way we have gained weight is through healthy calories, like whole milk and healthy fats, not fast food. I know this helps, but the fear is still there.

I still have to ask my mom or Miss A sometimes if they are overweight. In my eyes, they look perfect. But in my own eyes for a long time, I was perfect, until others told me I wasn’t.

All I can do is be the parent I needed at times—supportive and compassionate, proactive in a positive way when it comes to keeping all of our bodies healthy. I can nourish them with good food and love and whatever else they say they need. I can try to cut down my disordered eating in order to live a longer, healthier life for them and to demonstrate healthy behaviors they can emulate.

They know mommy has gotten smaller. They only recently learned that it’s called “losing weight.” One day I will sit down with them and have the brave conversation about how I gained it and how to treat our bodies with respect and not to be ashamed of ourselves, no matter what size we are.

But I won’t be ready to do that until I can have that conversation with myself.

Tags: body issues, childhood obesity, eating disorders, obesity, parenting, real life, society, weight