It happened again today. A mom was holding Hallie, and she said, "Wow, she's so light." I have no problem with this statement, it's true, and I would say the same thing if I was holding someone else's child that felt particularly light. What has been bothering me about it is my own reaction to it. Why do I get so frustrated with Hallie for being so small? (She had her 18 month checkup a few weeks ago, I know, two months late... but we got there. And she's 20 pounds, 31 inches. That's 2% for weight, and 12% for height. She gained one pound and one inch since her last checkup, at 12 months.) But the doctor keeps telling me that she's healthy. She is energetic (clearly), she is developing normally, and she looks good. So that should be enough for me, right? I should be happy with her because what does size really matter?
Maybe it's because it's so frustrating to offer her food and have her throw it. So let's pretend she does eat as much as I would like her to. Would I find something else to be dissatisfied with, say, "Oh my goodness, our grocery bill is so high now that Hallie is eating everything she can get her hands on. I wish..." Or whatever.
I started to get afraid that if I don't become satisfied with the size that she is, when will I? When will she magically reach the "right" size that will make me happy? And if I don't get happy with her size, she's going to start picking up on it (I pray that she hasn't already, she understands so much more than I realize.) and then what will that do to her self-image? Great, she's not even two and I've ruined her.
So, as of today, no more deep sighs when moms comment on how small she is. No more rolling my eyes when I have to buy her clothes two sizes smaller than other moms are buying for their kids her age. She's healthy, she's happy, she's learning, she's fine.
I think I have to take this lesson one step farther though. I have to be more happy with myself. This is the body I was given, I need to be more happy with it. Sure I need to take care of it, and eat right and exercise, and get the sleep I need, but once I've done all that complaining about my eyes, or my nose, or my teeth, or my stomach, or my thighs, or my whatever is not going to change the body I was given. It's a good, healthy body. So is Hallie's.
That's my September 7th resolution. A little late, but don't judge me too harshly, I'm still learning.
(I was going to put up a post titled, "You're Killing Me, Smalls." and then say, "First, you take the graham. Then, you roast the mallow." and then go on to whine and complain about Hallie's small size, and the food that she throws on the floor, and blah blah blah, but that's over now. I only share it because I thought it was funny... you know, the Sandlot is classic.)