Looking in the mirror, I turn to the right. Trying to stand up straight and suck it in. I turn to the other side, like that will be any different. There is no way I can wear this shirt with these shorts! I let out an exasperated sigh. Pulling the shirt off over my head, I expose that which I hate. I avert my eyes as I head to the closet to see what other disappointment awaits.

Behind me, sitting on the side of the bathtub, is my daughter. She may only be 5, but I know she sees way more than I know.

“You don’t like that shirt?”, she asks.

“No, it doesn’t fit me anymore”, I respond, digging through a stack of shirts in my closet hoping to find something that will work. My frustration grows to anger as I realize I have absolutely nothing here to wear!

In this moment, she doesn’t understand that having clothes that no longer fit means something different at my age. To her, this is a normal part of growing up. We simply buy clothes in the next size. I worry about what the next few years will hold for her. The negative messages she will undoubtedly receive about body image from the media and those around her. The awareness she will develop about her own body and what society measures as acceptable.

I have never felt I measured up. Early on I felt very self-conscious about my weight and how my clothes fit (or didn’t fit). Even at my thinnest, I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, “If I could just lose another 5 pounds.” After 3 pregnancies, 3 c-sections, 2 abdominal surgeries, and the loss of my oldest son I am at my heaviest ever. The only time my scale showed this number in the past was when I was at least 8-months pregnant. Depressing!

It makes me sad to think her journey could be similar. I can’t even count on one hand the number of times someone has said to me, “She’s solid!” What I always heard was, “Your kid is huge!” She is by no means obese or fat. She has always been really tall for her age, and that means she is generally bigger than the other kids. I hope these comments continue to go unnoticed. What I want for her more than anything is a positive body image!

I try to always be aware of the body image message I’m sending. In my weak moments of exasperation, I try to hide the look of disgust on my face. Never do we say things like, “I’m so fat.” When we talk about weight, we talk about it in connection to being healthy and making good choices about activity and food. I will admit, I’m not the best role model when it comes to taking care of myself right now. She calls me out on my bad choices!

We are trying to build in more activity. I know healthy habits we start now as a family will take her far. I try to continuously focus on the positive message. We don’t talk about the need for exercise in order to lose weight. We simply talk about needing to be more active so we can be healthy and take care of our bodies.

I envy how unaware she is. How confident she is in her own skin. When she steps on a scale, she wears that number like a badge of honor. “Mom, look how big I am!” I want this to continue for her as long as it is humanly possible!

So instead of ripping my closet apart looking for clothes I don’t have, swearing under my breath, and tossing angry glances at my reflection, I take a deep breath. I pull on the same sundress I wear week over week. I pledge to myself I will focus on increasing my activity and practice patience while I wait for my clothes to fit again.

As I walk back into the bathroom she says, “Mom, I love that dress. You look beautiful.”  I thank her. Hug her. If only I could see myself through her eyes.