By Sarah
My oldest daughter was 6 pounds, 6 ounces when she was born. My second daughter was 7 pounds, 4 ounces. Despite being almost a pound heavier than her sister had been, we called Adina "Little One."
She was little. While newborns are quite tough actually, it is their smallness and vulnerability that we notice most readily -- and for important biological reasons! Compared to her big sister (not even 30 pounds at three years old), she was tiny and helpless and so Little One was nicknamed.
But she got big quickly. At six months she was about 18 pounds, all thigh and tush and delicious apple cheeks. The babies in my family tend to be small while those in my husband's family tend to be big, so to us she seemed a perfect combination. According to the growth charts she is heavier and taller than most babies her age but nothing to fret about (not even the 90th percentile). I love all her dimples and heft.
Still, I have to admit, it can be bothersome, day in and day out, to have her size commented on. "What are they feeding you, baby?" "Oh, she is such a big, big girl." "What a fat baby!" "Hi, thunder-thighs!" "Looks like she gets enough to eat."
I have heard all these comments and more. Where I see lovely, full, strong legs others see fat. Whereas she was exclusively breast-fed until her 6-month birthday (and now mostly wears the food we feed her instead of swallowing it) others reference how much she must be eating. Perhaps if she were boy she would be "healthy" and "strong" but she is a girl, and people call her fat.
She is not fat. In fact, she is just as tall for her age as she is heavy, her little ribs are apparent when she is in the tub and her arms are getting thinner by the day as she has begun to crawl and is in constant motion. Even those big thighs are growing leaner. The big bottom people comment on is really just a tiny behind masked by bulky cloth diapers. And here I have to stop myself, and ask: Why do I have to defend her size and why does it bother me at all if I know she is healthy and happy?
Perhaps my own body images are unresolved. I spent a year in high school eating nothing but diet pills and saltine crackers even though I wasn't overweight. I hate shopping for clothes, dread the difficulty of dressing my pear-shaped body. My mother is constantly dieting, calling herself fat (she is actually tiny) and I remind her not to talk like that in front of my daughters. But in my family, fat and skinny are important terms.
Adina and her sister are clean slates. They have not been corrupted by unrealistic images of beauty and womanhood, have not been hurt by playground jabs about how they look. These are my issues, my mother's issues, many women's issues.
What I need to do is learn, like my girls are, to be comfortable in my own skin, no matter what frame it is stretched over. What I need to do is admire my own dimpled thighs as much as I admire Adina's. We have so much to teach each other. Then, perhaps I can help everyone else see that Little One's baby fat is really baby beauty.
Sarah Rachel Egelman is a community college instructor and freelance book reviewer who lives in New Mexico with her family.
By Amy Heesacker
