Romance for Real Women

My sweet daughter, Elizabeth, a real woman in training, came to me yesterday and asked the following question: “Moooom,” she said, stretching out the syllable, “Do you think I’m fat?”

Oh. My. God.

Elizabeth will be in seventh grade in the fall. She’s slim and tall. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. She does well in school and has been a gymnast since she was in the third grade. She has lots of friends and their greatest joy appears to be sleepovers where they paint their nails odd colors. They text each other constantly. They have serious discussions about clothes and boys.

She is the girlie-girl I never was and in no sense is she overweight.

Caught by surprise, I said, “Who told you that?”

She shrugged and twirled the ends of her hair. “Nobody.” After a moment, she added, “Maybe Heather.”

Ah, ha. Heather. My least favorite of her little chums, Heather is a know-it-all who always wears a sly expression as if she’s constantly monitoring any situation for her own advantage. No, I’m not fond of Heather. Now I like her less. And, in the spirit of truth in blogging, I should add that Heather actually is a little overweight.

However, I long ago learned that direct attacks on little friends from Mom are rarely productive. So instead of launching into a diatribe about Heather, her parents and forebears tracing not so many generations back to ape men, I merely asked how the question came up.

Still twirling her hair, Beth said, “Well, we were talking about Crystal’s swimming party.”

Crystal’s swimming party, the social event of the season, endlessly discussed. All the classmates are invited including, yikes, boys. Crystal’s party is the reason we’ve been on not one, but two shopping trips to find just the right bathing suit, a sweet little yellow one piece suit with flowers and a tiny skirt.

“Darling,” I say, “don’t you think you look wonderful in your bathing suit?’

“I don’t know,” she says and now her head is down, her face covered by her hair.

“Well, I do,” I say decisively. “Did you know that department store light is the worst place to look at yourself in a bathing suit?”

That gets her interest and an eye peeks out behind the curtain of hair.

“Yep,” I continue. “In all the years I’ve been buying bathing suits for myself, I’ve never, ever tried them on in those fluorescent lights.” This is true. I don’t. I can take only so much in a given day.

“But I did,” she said softly.

“Yes, you did and you looked great. Didn’t you?” I go for the kill.

She shrugs again, but this time I get a smile and a hug and she’s off, probably to text a friend.

I’m shaken. I think I’ve dealt with the immediate issue fairly well. But this is one I’m going to have to keep an eye on.