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  2007-01-18 / 9:06 a.m.
Glitter Queen
 

 

 

 

 

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My older daughter is built like the sperm donor--she's thick through the middle of her body. It's got nothing to do with poor eating habits because I've never really allowed any. It's simply how she's built. Until she recently shot up about 3 and a half feet, it was really hard to find jeans that would accomodate her belly but not be a foot too long. But now that I literally have to look up to talk to my 4th grader, 10.5's fit her lengthwise and the waist that's a tad roomy is easily remedied with a belt. Her sister, on the other hand, is a twig like me, except she doesn't have my long legs; she's petite. It is funny to me how two kids from the same gene pool can be so physically opposite.

My mother has been anorexic for about 25 years, if not more. She is now living on Mountain Dew and nicotine and weighs about 80 lbs. When I moved my kids out of her house and into mine almost 3 years ago, my daughter the twig (who was 5 at that time) was already picking up my mother's eating habits, or lack thereof; I had to practically beat her with a 2 by 4 to get her to finish even the smallest of meals. It took months of fighting to get her to clean her plate the way growing kids need to because clearly, that was never enforced at the House That Anorexia Built. But Twig eats normally now so I don't worry too much about the eating/weight aspect of her life.

Thankfully, somehow my older daughter escaped the awful influence and has always been a good eater. She doesn't eat a significant amount more or less than Twig. Growing up surrounded by disordered eating and distorted body issues, it gets tricky at times for me to see my two daughters and not panic that one is skinny but the other one isn't. Sometimes I really have to remind myself that the way Non-Twig is built is ok. If she ate like a pig 'round the clock it'd be another story, maybe then I'd need to consider altering some eating habits. Sometimes I look at my beautiful girl and I have to forget what I grew up with and remind myself that weight doesn't make the person.

Non-Twig is a testament to the mothering skills I can't believe I have. I have managed to instill confidence in her that she is beautiful, smart, funny and kind so if some asshole calls her fat it's like water off a duck's back. It rarely happens though, because of her confidence. I'm simply in awe of her. And envious because if I'd had that confidence at her age, certain areas of my life now would probably not be cordoned off with disaster tape.

I do wonder what sort of binging and purging train wreck she'd be under my mother's gaze though. Who'd have guessed an 80 lb. waif could embody such potential danger?

 
   

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Bits of fire in the sky push me east back home. I used to live in flames but it's hard on the wings. Choke me. Smoke me. Scare me back. You try but you just can't. I peel the layers in my spare time, and you're easy to see through. I can fly, I've discovered on my own. I may be the lesser butterfly but my wings are just as strong. Who are you to tell me to find a place to land? I may be the lesser butterfly but baby watch me glide.

 

 

 
       

 




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