This morning when I dropped Trixie off at daycare, one of her teachers was holding her and crooning "Trixie's a short fatty girl, yes she is!" (in a very loving tone, I hasten to add) and I had like EIGHT different internal reactions to it.
a) Yay! Babies should be fat, my girl's a good eater!
b) Hell, she *is* a little on the short side.
c) Argh! Don't start with the weight issues!
d) God, what if she DOES end up a Big Girl like me? Shit.
e) She can't walk yet, so it's not like I can take her jogging
f) Why must all women obsess about the wieght issue, even on a one-year-old??
g) I hate the media.
h) I hate myself -- why can I not lose that 25 pounds?
I'm over it, but it was amazing what an enormous cluster of contradictory feelings and thoughts I had in that moment.