Dear “Shallow Mommy” Club Member,

I’m not antisocial. Introverted, definitely. Antisocial, not so much.

I spend a lot of time sitting by myself at our daughters’ practices and games. I am not holding back because I’m afraid to talk to you and your crew, but because I’ve overheard enough of your conversations to know that I have no desire to have any sort of meaningful interaction with you.

I promise that I don’t eavesdrop, at least not intentionally. It was kind of hard to not hear the squeals of salutation as one of your herd takes her seat among you in the stands behind me:

“HI FALLULAH! WOW, YOU LOOK REALLY SKINNY TODAY!”

I nearly choked on my own disbelief. The way Fallulah’s reaction sputtered, I’m pretty sure she felt the same way. That’s how you greet a friend? This person who, at roughly 5’ 6” tall, probably weighs about 110 pounds soaking wet with her clothes and shoes on? She looks skinny every day. Turn her sideways and the woman practically disappears. That day was no different than any other. But more importantly – really? This is the way you say hi – by exclaiming your gleeful approval over her size in front of everyone within earshot?

I’m going to try that kind of greeting some time with my own friends and see how it goes.

“Well hey there, Beulah Mae! Ohh-emm-gee, your ass is looking mighty Kardashian today! Have you started hitting the Twinkies again? They’re really working for you, girl!”

“I say, Ethel. Your gargantuan feet normally look like a pair of shipwrecked canoes trying to race each other across the pavement but they suddenly seem proportionate to the rest of your body on this particular day!”

Hmm. I think I’ll just stick with my usual “hello.”

It makes me really sad that this is the example you’re setting for your daughter, Friend-Of-Skinny. Mind if I call you that? You’re pretty thin, yourself, so I guess that Skinny-Friend-Of-Skinnier might fit you a little better. Do you realize all the subtle ways you’re inadvertently teaching your daughter that waifishness is something to be prized, that a walking bag of antlers is what every girl should aspire to become?

Look, we’re all raising our daughters and trying our best to get them ready for the big, bad world as well as we know how. At this point, it seems as though body insecurity has become an unfortunate and innate characteristic within all of us, a trait that’s been willfully bred into our DNA by generations of people who think the way you do, Skinny-Friend-Of-Skinnier. You know, I just can’t picture a Native American woman roaming the Great Plains 400 years ago, seeing her reflection in a lake and saying to herself, “Ugh, this deerskin makes me look like an overfed sack of maize. Guess I need to lay off the peyote, the midnight munchies are totally killing my figure.”

I sound bitter, I know I do. That’s because my nine-year-old began calling herself “fat” at age seven. SEVEN. Why? Her little girl friends at school told her that she was. Those girls told her she needed to start bringing celery to school instead of a sandwich, when the majority of the food she ate in any given day were fruits and vegetables to begin with. Where do you think girls learn those kinds of ideas at such an early age?

You guessed it: Mommy.

My youngest is a strongly built girl, I’ll give you that much. Has been since birth. As a baby, we nicknamed her “Dozer” and with good reason – she was a solid mass of infant who spewed forth out of my horrified nethers, big giant (and perfectly round) head first. Like a bulldozer. She looked like a cesarean baby, that’s how round her head was. I still don’t know how the hell I managed to walk again after that, but I digress. My twelve-year-old daughter has already surpassed my height, weight, and shoe size. We just grow them big, I guess. Genetics and whatnot.

Do you have any idea how difficult it has been for me to help my girls stay confident about their bodies? I have to constantly remind myself to not complain out loud on those bloated days when I feel I’m at my most bovine. When I don’t think my boobs are sitting properly beneath a fitted shirt – even though to the rest of the world they are perfectly lovely looking, I’m sure – I have to quell the urge to throw on the biggest sweatshirt that I own because I feel like I’m some sort of grossly misshapen hosebeast. I’m 5’5” and I wear a size 10. What the fuck is wrong with me that I should feel like that about my body? Why do I mentally admonish myself that way?

I have done – and will continue to do – my very best to instill in my daughters the truth that they are beautiful people, inside and out. When they begin to feel insecure about their bodies, I gently remind them that overall health is what’s most important. Eating well. Getting some exercise. Taking proper care of yourself. Keeping a positive attitude. It’s okay that we have narrower waists and wider hips – flaunt those things, babies!

(Well, don’t flaunt them just yet. “Be proud but dress very modestly until you’re 30 and allowed to start dating,” that’s what I always tell my girls.)

Everyone is built differently, kiddos. Some of us just can’t rock those skinny jeans. So… we wear curvier jeans instead. And they look great. I still have to cling to those reminders, myself. I’m pushing 40. One would think that I shouldn’t need them by now; being a woman of the world – I should know better, right? Maybe it’s an internal battle we’re stuck fighting for life, simply because we are women and the war is in our genes. And in our jeans.

We’re in the stands together again today, as we are so often are, Skinny-Friend-Of-Skinnier. Close, and yet so far apart. Your daughter is playing well on the field, as is mine. They both look like they’re having fun out there, don’t they? You, on the other hand, are as vapid as ever. I wish nothing but good luck once your little girl hits puberty – she’s really going to need it.

 
* Names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty so we will just call this author: Bitchy McStretchyPants

{This ‘Best of Blunt Moms’ post was first published in October 2014}

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Wannabe's are Guest Authors to BLUNTmoms. They might be one-hit wonders, or share a variety of posts with us. They "may" share their names with you, or they might write as "anonymous" but either way, they are sharing their stories and their opinions on our site, and for that we are grateful.

6 Comments

  1. I think at some point, we all have to just say “Awww, those poor things” to these women. Most of them are actually quite pretty, but whatever insecurities are weighing them down make them go slather on ten tons of make-up and starve themselves until all their lady parts are gone, then they hafta go buy them back at the Dr.’s office, or they push whatever they got up in a padded push-up. It’s all about attention. Insecurities. They probably have a guy at home that compares them to some starved, plastic girl in porn or on TV, or they were brought up with parents that glorified superficiality, and how terrible for them, and now everyone they infect.
    My opinion is that women get a little insecure when we see these pin-up wanna-be women because with all their make-up, skimpy clothes and boobies hanging out, we fear that our guys will not only notice them (which we ALL do, that is their plan) but they will be attracted to them, want them, compare us, etc.
    At the moment, most men are addicted to porn (and some women), and almost every woman touted as attractive on TV looks like her second job is in the porn biz…so, what is it that we real women should do?
    Ignore the vapid ones. Refuse to be anything like them. Teach your kids that real women (and people in general) are the best, and hopefully one day this fascination with being plastic will be looked back upon like the embarrassment it is for us all…and it really is embarrassing.

  2. My legs will never fit into size 25 jeans, but they carry me far. They carried me and my three children. I am proud of these strong legs. I wish we could all be grateful for the miracles our bodies are because oftentimes it takes a breakdown, an illness, cancer or loss of our health to recognize how amazing we are, no matter our size. Tell your little one to rock that strong body. I loved this read.

  3. I love everything about this post. I also appreciate it’s not a skinny-bashing post but rather a leading by example for our girls. I’ve been tall, lanky and skinny my whole life and still felt like I had the weight of the world stress with insecurities all throughout puberty.

    It’s so important, like you mentioned here, that we raise our children to appreciate their inner beauty. Girls are more than just pretty… they’re wise, intelligent, creative, smart and well you’re a mom of a daughter so you know… we need to continue to be examples of our true selves and help our children connect within as a result. The more we demonstrate this the more our girls will grow to be proud of their differences and begin to teach THIS to others on the playground rather than shy away from the topic.

  4. “walking bag of antlers,” I love this line. You’ve got such a delightful way with words. I’m thankful to be raising boys because of the things you describe above. I’d have loved a girl, but was a complete failure at the passive-aggressive girl games when I was a kid. I can’t imagine what I’d say to a daughter who had her confidence pulled out from under her by her “friends.”

    Even as a mom of boys, I sit at ballgames, wondering if the shallow moms are gawking at my bathroom DIY hair color job, that my toenails are still painted red, when anyone who knows anything has theirs dark gray or taupe. I wonder if they’ve noticed that I still carry the same handbag from two years ago (because, darn it, I just like it and don’t want to get a new one). I, myself, don’t care about any of those things, but this little voice deep inside me keeps saying “you should care. If you had any pride in yourself you’d care.” I clearly need to hire a new little voice.

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