Don’t call a kid fat.

Don't call a kid fat. 

When you lift them up, don't groan with effort and say 'whoa'.

Otherwise when they're 3 and you teach them to wish on the first star of the evening sky, they'll whisper quietly to themselves... 'Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight...I wish to be skinny.'

And they'll hope on the magic of that star that it comes true. It won't feel that far-fetched, you know, tooth fairy, santa, easter bunny & all that....

And they'll wake every morning checking the mirror to see if the celestial granter of wishes has taken away their belly, or carved hallows from their cheeks, or grew their bones to protrude from their way-to-strong muscles like the other kids at school. They'll check to see if their back still sways, letting their tiny belly pouch too far forward. 

With each outgrown piece of clothing they'll think it's their fault. They'll try to eat less sweets, but they also have no control, the brain chemicals are so overwhelming. They'll notice other kids don't eat as compulsively as they do and wonder why. 

When they take pictures they'll obsess over how much taller and bigger they are. They'll mourn the days grown-ups don't lift them up anymore because they’re too big, even though they still lift the other kids thier age. It won’t make sense. They'll feel less loved. Less cherished.

Big must bot be good either. 

They'll grow afraid of their largeness and strength, and not just physically - but emotionally, intellectually too. They'll assume all big things are bad. They'll work really hard to be small, light, airy, unassuming, easy. 

And one day in their 40's they'll stand in front of the mirror in the early morning before the sunrise, groggy from sleep, and realize they're still doing it. Still looking to see if their belly magically shrunk overnight, or if their collar bones are visible today. They'll realize they've started each conscious day this way, all 13,486 days of their life. Not in gratitude for the breath of a new day, or in celebration of the beautiful unique form they get to embody, but in the disappointment of a wish not granted magically overnight that their body is more lovable than the day before. Measuring their lovability by the shape of their form. 

So don't call a kid fat.