When One Child Calls the Other ‘Fatty’

It sure seems like we moms talk about our start-of-the-year goals more than all our other goals combined.

But now that my nine-year-old daughters are careening towards puberty (and have simultaneously perfected the art of eavesdropping), I must be ultra aware when I discuss improving my physical self. They model my behavior, so I consciously focus on ambitions for a healthy body as opposed to a slim, light, or sexy body. Running a half-marathon, completing 50 push-ups (in a row!), and eating locally grown veggies are the goals I champion.

I’ve also become a master at suppressing negative body banter about myself. You won’t hear me fussing that my rear end “resembles a couch cushion in these jeans.” You won’t catch me telling my husband that I feel “chunky-ish,” and most definitely you will not hear me complain about ridiculous vanity sizing. (Give it a rest, Cabi! We both know I’m not a size 4!)

The problem is, I cannot protect my girls from hearing and seeing the persistent skinny body ideal that surrounds us in magazines, on television and in the minds of many of the kids’ friends. It’s frustrating because they are currently in that blissed-out place in childhood where the body is intended for skipping, crawling, jumping rope, hide and seeking, swinging and wiggling.

And I want them to get an extra-long dosage of this wiggle state of mind.

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All three of my kids are slim. (My son is so thin, actually, I’m lucky Child Protective Services hasn’t hauled me away. “He’s on the track team!” I’ll scream in protest.)  According to our pediatrician, my daughters have BMIs of 16 and 14. They are healthy, active and eat constantly.

But one day not long ago, I overheard the girls lightly bickering in the family room. I wasn’t paying close attention to what they were saying until I heard something new. One called the other “fatty.”

Seriously? I had been talking about getting stronger biceps as my New Year’s resolution, and my daughter is fat-shaming her stick-figured sister?

In that moment, I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

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On the one hand, I want them to know that body insults are particularly cruel. I want to identify the mean words so I can tell my girls not to use them. I want them to explain why those words sting.

But on the other hand, I’d like to them have a little more time being naïve. These days, calling a girl or woman “fat” is basically the worst insult she can receive. The word “fat” weighs more, if you will, than other zingers. And that’s because a female’s appearance is treated, all too often, as her most important asset. How a woman looks is a huge part of her worth as a person. So if you want to cut her to her core, take a swipe at her looks. In this particular time in history, being “fat” is worse than being stupid, careless, mean or even smelly.

So when my daughter said “fatty,” I didn’t jump in and explain it’s a cruel term. Instead, I hesitated. I waited and listened to see how the receiver of this insult would react. Did she understand the severity the way an adult woman would? And did the speaker of this word realize it’s uglier than most?

But one sister barely registered the insult from the other sister. The bickering quickly turned back into playful yammering. On this particular occasion, the girls moved on without a retort, huff, or pout. So I said nothing. I didn’t draw attention or lecture or even acknowledge the moment.

We survived Fatty-gate. My little girls dodged the body image talk that I will have with them eventually. It will be a conversation that will, even if approached with the utmost care, pop the bubble they are in right now. It’s a bubble in which they don’t yet know how much value is placed on what their bodies look like.

All this prompted me to make another, albeit late, New Year’s resolution. I need to model my girls’ body behavior and wiggle more.