Don't Use the Word Fat!

I had a tough realization the other day. (So put your serious faces on, but don't worry. There will be funny things later.) Have you seen my Katie? She's tall and skinny like her dad--mostly legs. If she keeps these proportions she could be a supermodel. She's even got the eyelashes for it. Not to brag or anything, but this girl's got magic genes. (Which she got from her dad.)

But the other day she put on a pull-up before nap time (oh, and we're potty training. It's so much fun. Not.) and then pulled her pants over them, looked in the mirror, and said, "Now I look fat in my bummy."

Oh sweet mercy.

I realized that my uncontrollable self esteem problems are affecting my daughter. She has heard me refer to myself as fat and thought to use that word to describe herself. And she's two.

I have never found it easy to think positively about myself. And I've only recently started being open about my depression issues and such. Do you want to know why? (Why I'm being open about them, not why I wasn't before.) Because it's affecting my family. When I am not happy, none of my children are happy. When I think bad things about myself, my daughter starts saying she looks fat in her bummy.

I know what you're thinking. "Yes, diapers do make your bum larger. She's just probably thinking that it looks bigger." And you're right. The thing that makes me upset is that she knows the word fat. Because of me. And it needs to stop.

Okay, you can take off your serious faces now and I'll tell you the funny things from my notebook. Which is WAY less convenient than a sticky note, because it's also my important things notebook and I usually have it open to a different page so I forget to write down ridiculous things that my daughter says.

First of all, this house has been hit by a My Little Pony craze. Mike saw it on Netflix one Saturday morning while they were letting me sleep in with the boys (Hallelujah!) and randomly decided to try it so they could take a break from Curious George (which has been Katie's favorite morning cartoon for . . . forever). And apparently now we're hooked. It has become a bonding thing. In fact, we're using it to potty train! Katie's already filled up her sticker chart and now all she has to do is poop in the potty and we get to find a Rainbow Dash. Yeah, we're cool parents.

Here's an example. We're Skyping my mom, and Katie is telling her how much she loves Rainbow Dash, and my mom starts grilling me. (It's practically Christmas, after all.) So I tell her Katie likes Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie and Twilight Sparkle (are you getting an idea of what kind of show this is?) but she's not really that into Fluttershy. And then Mike pipes in from the kitchen, "That's because Fluttershy is lame!" Yes, this is my big, strong, manly husband.

Another thing that has made me giggle recently is the way Katie tells stories these days. She's two and a half, right? Well, she's got a pretty impressive memory for a kid her size. She remembers things from, like, a year ago. And they're usually things we haven't mentioned recently. But still, she's only got 2 1/2 years of experience under her belt, probably 1 1/2 tops in her memory (and that's pushing it).

But every time she tells us a story, whether it's from yesterday or last winter or it's totally made up, she begins with either, "When I was a young girl" or "When I was a little kid." What? For example, the other day she sees me popping this weird zit I got on my hand from all my dry skin (and don't worry, it's not a staph infection--it's not painful or coming back). And she puts on her serious face and says, "When I was a young girl, I got rid of my zit."

She seems obsessed recently with stages of life. Besides talking about when she was a young girl, she also tells me all the time about what she's going to do when she's a grown-up. (i.e. go to the potty without a stool or her sesame street potty seat).  But so far my favorite has been, "When I'm a naked grown-up, I'll have all my bones and they won't be growing!"

Okay, one more Katie quote. Today during nap time, I fell asleep with the boys. I wake up to Katie patting my arm, and she tells me, "It's okay, Mom. I'm protecting you from the bad guys. See this big house? And there are no bad guys? I scared away all the bad guys." I feel so safe now.

Now we will finish with an important announcement: The boys are rolling! So, Peter's been teasing us for a few weeks, flipping his legs and hips over but not being able to get his big 'ole head to flip. So I totally thought he'd go first. But, no. Last Friday afternoon I laid them on a blanket, went to check on the laundry, and when I got back, Josh was on his stomach. And laying in a puddle of puke, but that's a different story. Yay Josh!

Later that same day, I laid them on a blanket so I could make dinner (or something). Not to be outdone, Peter rolled onto his stomach. And back. And on his stomach. And back again. And now he can roll everywhere like a log. They're pretty proud of their new skills. Unfortunately, though, while Peter can just flip around and be however he wants, Josh can only go back to front. And he can't control the urge to do it. And then he gets stuck there until his back gets tired or I notice that he's angry. And if I'm in the bathroom or otherwise unable to get to him, he yells for a bit, then gives up and just lies flat on the ground. It's really pitiful and pathetic and adorable at the same time.

The result of all this is that I never know where or in what position I'll find them in if I have to leave them alone on the floor for a second. They've been able to rotate around like little clock hands for a while, and Josh has been perfecting his manly leg muscles by rocketing himself backward across the floor until he bonks his head on the wall, but now they can roll. So there has been a lot of Peter sucking on Josh's toes or Josh kneeing Peter in the kidney or one of them chewing on the other one's ear. (Oh, and they've gotten really into ear-pulling recently. Weird.) And if one of them wants to roll, but there's a brother in the way, he'll just roll anyway and squish aforementioned brother. And then they'll both be uncomfortable and screeching at each other (yes, at each other) until I separate them.

I think I can see my future. Pray for me.

But when they're not somehow pummeling each other, they're totally interacting. This morning when I heard them wake up from their nap and went into their room, they were turned toward each other in their crib and they were both laughing. Apparently I missed the joke.