By Jessica Rios
It’s usually when I walk around in my underwear. On occasion my daughter, who just turned five, chases me squealing, “Mama your legs are so biiiiiiig!” She giggles and wants to touch me and play with me.
The first time she said it was about six months ago and it caught me off guard.
Did she really just say that?
It was one of those semi-shocking moments, when a child blurts something you just wouldn’t say as an adult. Women don’t want to hear that. But plain truth be told, my legs are bigger than hers. She has a slender build and I am almost twice as tall as her. Plus her body is lean and I spent my early childhood snacking on Oreo cookies and ice cream. Mine’s not so lean.
So once I got over the reaction I would have had 20 years ago: Whaaaaaat? Ohhhh this hurts, ouch, she’s right, I really need to get more exercise or stop eating sugar or… which took about three seconds to move through me, I simply said what seemed true and loving: “My legs are just the right size for me.”
Frankly I almost couldn’t believe what I’d said. Was that really me talking, saying words of self-acceptance about my body? Who was this matter-of-fact-I’m-fine woman that I’d become?
Let me answer that question. This woman is a woman who has experienced so much culturally and self-inflicted criticism, yes mostly self inflicted, about my body that I refused to ever, no I have not ever, said one negative word about my body around my daughter. I don’t talk about women’s bodies as if they are to be criticized. Spending 30-something years in the pain of that world was enough.
This is a woman who birthed a girl child, for whom I want as little of that kind of pain as humanly possible. Magazine ads and peer chatter will be enough for her to pick up on society’s sick perspectives about the female body. I will not be contributing to that.
See next page for the rest…
