My Innocent Obsession

Lately, I’ve been noticing how my obsession with getting fit again is affecting my children. It started with my daughter, the youngest and only child at home with me as of this new school year. Every mid-week morning, after dropping her brothers off at school, our routine is pretty simple and consistent. I make our shake, which consists of spinach, banana, strawberries and/or raspberries, sometimes Greek nonfat, plain yogurt, a little cinnamon, and a dash of vanilla extract from time-to-time. Right after, I pull out the iPad, find our favorite instructors and do 10 – 30 minutes of Pilates or Zumba. After that, I shower while she works on her learning apps. 

One day, this schedule changed. We returned home, I told her to go ahead with her learning and I headed to my room to prepare to shower. She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Well, go on,” I encouraged her. Still she stood, looking at me. “What?” I asked.

“Mommy, how about our shake? It’s not learning time yet.”

I tried to explain to her that I had an appointment, and we needed to head out earlier than usual, so we’d have to skip our shake.

“But…but we didn’t work out yet. We can’t go anywhere.”

I was getting agitated, as my little workout buddy wasn’t getting the drift that I was in a hurry to get on so I could make my appointment. I sighed and explained that some days, things come up and we have to be flexible. She then asked if we would be having our shakes when we returned and working out then as well. I further explained that we might be out until her brother was out from school, so for the day, we would have to forgo our usual routine.

“But, mama, you said drinking our shake helps our tummy so we can poop, and pooping is good; that’s what Aunty Sarah say(s).”

I knew there was no winning, so I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and went on about my business. Then, a few weeks later, I was making dinner and overheard my children talking. My oldest said, “Yah, she’s a fat little girl.” Taken aback, I stopped stirring the soup I was making and asked to whom he was referring. He rattled something about one of her past teachers and how his brother had said he could not be a teacher like her, because she’s a woman and he’s a boy. I stopped him there and asked who he was referring to as “a fat little girl”.

“Mrs. ----” he replied, not batting an eye.

“Excuse me, we don’t call people fat! That is so rude! How do you think she would feel if she heard you talk about her like that?”

“I don’t know, but she is…fat, Mommy. I’m not lying.”

A discussion followed in which he stated that when I look at my belly, I refer to it as fat, and that that particular teacher had “a really fat belly”. I knew right then that I had just walked into a trap of my own making. I simply asked that he to be more considerate when referring to people and asked him if he thought she was a good teacher. “My favorite!” was his response, so I asked him to focus on that aspect of her instead, and “Okay!” was his simple response.

I thought we’d moved on, but about two weeks later, as I was washing dishes from breakfast, I heard my oldest son sighing and huffing, so I asked him what was wrong.

“Mommy, I don’t work out; that’s why my leg is so fat,” he sighed, bent over touching his calf area. “You told Daddy he should work out because his leg was fat.”

Apparently, he had missed the whole first part of the conversation, in which I was encouraging my husband to try to make some time, even if just twice a week, to take walks or walk on the treadmill, to get in some exercise. My husband’s response, which he must have only caught the tail-end of was: “Why would I do those? Don’t you want me to work more on my abs and arms? My legs are fine. They don’t need the workout as much as my arms. Or, are you saying if I don’t work out my legs they’ll be fat?” We laughed over it, not knowing we had an eavesdropper. Either way, I had to reassure my son that his legs were just fine, and that I really like his daddy’s legs.

Now, I have to hide when weighing myself in the mornings, because all three children want to know how much they weigh, too. Sigh. They know our homemade pizza is going to have spinach and tomatoes on it. They know they won’t win an argument about putting cream cheese icing on their cinnamon rolls. They long ago lost the battle over whether or not spinach had to be added to their morning shakes, and after many weeks of complaints, they request the shakes now. They know when I’m running up and down the stairs for exercise, I do not like to be blocked or interrupted. They know every breakfast contains some kind of fruit and lunch and dinner contains some kind of vegetable.

I really like that I’m instilling great habits in them, but at the same time, I realize that in my attempt to look and feel better, they are watching more closely than I’d like. My complaint over the 0.6 lbs I gained since Monday but eventually lose by Thursday doesn’t go unheard. I found my whining moments to my husband over my failed attempts to lose excess skin from my last pregnancy were a cause for a concern with them when my youngest two asked, on different occasions: “Mommy, do you want me to pray for your tummy? Maybe Jesus can take it away.”

Sigh…I guess I just need to learn the importance of balance, watching my words, and being committed without the obsession.