What Every Parent Should Ask Themselves About Their Child’s Weight
Last October, I was huddled on the cold metal bleachers at my 11-year-old daughter Mia’s rec soccer game, holding a lukewarm pumpkin spice latte that was already sweating through its paper cup. The mom next to me, whose kid had played on the team with Mia for two years, leaned over and nodded toward the field. “She’s such a good defender,” she said. “But I noticed she’s winded a lot more than the other girls. Have you ever thought about her weight?”
I didn’t snap at her. I just nodded and smiled, because I’d been thinking the same thing for months. Mia’s jeans from the previous spring wouldn’t button. She’d turned down a birthday trip to the water park back in June, saying she “didn’t feel like going.” I’d found myself scrolling parenting forums at 10 p.m. after she went to bed, searching “when should I worry about my child’s weight” and “how to help an 11 year old lose weight safely.” I’d already swapped her whole milk for skim, started buying “low-sugar” everything, and suggested a post-dinner walk around the block three nights a week instead of our usual show marathon. I’d even started hiding her favorite chewy granola bars on the top shelf of the pantry, so she’d only eat one when I said okay.
A week after that soccer game, Mia came into my room while I was folding laundry, holding the red cheer uniform she’d gotten for the school pep rally. Her eyes were wet. It wouldn’t zip past her hips. I opened my mouth before I thought, and said, “That’s okay, we can order a bigger one. And maybe we can just be a little more careful about what we eat the next few weeks, yeah?” And that’s when she broke. She dropped the uniform on the floor and started sobbing, saying “I know I’m fat. All the kids in my class say it. You think it too, don’t you?”
I sat down on the floor with her, and all I could do was hold her, because I realized I’d been so focused on the “problem” of her weight that I hadn’t noticed how much she was already hurting. The next day I called our pediatrician and got a same-day appointment, because I was determined not to mess this up like my mom messed it up with me. When I was 11, I got my first period, grew three inches in a year, and carried extra weight all through middle school. My mom commented on every slice of pizza I ate, bought me “diet” lemonade for my lunch, and I spent most of high school on crash diets that still mess with my relationship with food today. I didn’t want that for Mia.
At the doctor’s office, after weighing her, measuring her, and checking her growth chart, she confirmed what I’d secretly hoped but didn’t dare believe: Mia was totally healthy. Her weight tracked right with her height, and she was just hitting her growth spurt a little earlier than most of the girls in her class. Then she asked me a question that stopped me cold: “When was the last time you complained about your own weight in front of Mia?”
I thought for a second, and realized I do it every single day. I complain about my jeans not fitting after I get dressed in the morning. I say I need to “walk off” the pasta we had for dinner. I mutter about my stomach while I’m putting on lotion after a shower. I didn’t think she was listening, but of course she was. That’s the question I think every parent needs to ask themselves when they start worrying about their kid’s weight, before they do anything else. Most of the time, we’re not worried because our kid is unhealthy, we’re worried because we’ve internalized all these ideas about what a kid’s body should look like, and we bring our own unprocessed body hang-ups right to the dinner table.
After that appointment, I made small, concrete changes that didn’t require a huge lifestyle overhaul or a strict new diet for the whole family. First, I stopped commenting on my own weight out loud. If I’m frustrated that my jeans don’t fit, I say it to my husband when the kids aren’t around, or I just don’t say it at all. It’s just a habit to break, no cost, no extra work. Second, I rearranged the kitchen. I moved all the easy, grab-and-go whole foods – cut apples, pre-sliced cheese, grapes, those chewy granola bars she loves – down to the lower shelves where Mia and her little brother can reach them. I didn’t get rid of the chips or the cookies. We still have soda for pizza night, and we get ice cream after soccer every Saturday. I just made the easy choice the healthy choice, no hiding, no shame.
Third, I stopped talking about weight entirely. Instead of labeling foods “good” or “bad,” I started talking about how food makes you feel. If we’re going to the zoo, I’ll say “I’m going to add an extra egg to my breakfast this morning so I don’t get tired halfway through, want one?” instead of pushing it as a “healthy” option. Fourth, I stopped policing portions. We switched to serving dinner family style, so everyone serves themselves how much they want, and I don’t say a word if someone goes back for a second or even third helping. Turns out kids are way better at regulating their hunger than we give them credit for, when we stop getting in the way.
It’s been almost eight months since that night with the cheer uniform. Mia grew two inches over the winter, and her weight evened out on its own. She tried on the cheer uniform last week and it zipped right up. She signed up for the school pool party this spring, and she’s been asking to walk to the library every Friday after school to get new graphic novels – something I never could have talked her into when I was pushing walks just for exercise. That’s the thing: when activity is for fun, not for weight loss, kids want to do it.
It’s not perfect. Sometimes I still catch myself staring at her in the checkout line when she picks out a candy bar, and I have to bite my tongue. Some days I still worry, because all the headlines about childhood obesity are everywhere, and that little nagging voice is hard to turn off. But what I know now is that worrying about her weight isn’t half as important as making sure she doesn’t grow up hating her body the way I did. That question – when was the last time you talked about your own weight in front of your kid? – it’s the one I still ask myself when I start to feel that old worry creep in. It doesn’t fix everything, but it’s always the right place to start.
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