My Fat-Talk is for Babies post is featured on BlogHer today. This is what BlogHer is, according to BlogHer: Reaching more than 20 million unique women each month BlogHer is the leading participatory news, entertainment and information network for women online. Women turn to BlogHer to raise their voices, discuss relevant issues, aggregate their influence and engage with a supportive community of others doing the same. With blog directories including more than 25,000 quality blogs, reviewed by humans, and a publishing network joining more than 2,500 affiliated bloggers, BlogHer is the only place to find active, authentic conversations representing the full diversity of topics of interest to women.

So that’s nice.

I know you already read it here, but go to BlogHer and read it there, too. That way, they’ll know how much I appreciate their syndicating my post (because I super do very much appreciate it). You could even leave a comment there because, I suspect that most people who read that post will read it as, “Eat donuts every day for every meal and just buy bigger pants when you need to!” which, my smart readers know, is totally not the point.

Because it’s the New Year and everybody is resolving to do All of the Good Things and None of the Bad Things, I wanted to share something with you. Here it is: It’s ok to be a woman and have a good body image.

Before Thanksgiving, this post from Psych Central showed up in my Google Reader: How to Have a Fat-Talk Free Holiday Season and I immediately subscribed to that blog because, of all of the things in the world that I hate, I hate fat talk the most. I hate that I’ve done it when the conversation has been steered that way. I hate that when I started running I would feel guilty about it around women who don’t run, and then I’d say I only run because I really like to eat when, really, I run because I like the way it feels. I really like to eat, too, but that’s not why I run. I like to eat real food. Real butter, real cream, real sugar, and I eat what I like to eat without guilt. I don’t care what size my body parts are. I don’t weigh myself. I move how I want, I eat what I want, and I buy bigger pants when I need to. And I just don’t give a care.

It wasn’t always this way. When you’re a girl, you grow up with this culture of fat talk. How much do you weigh? What size are your pants? And it seems like that’s the most important thing. You’re supposed to look in the mirror and point out all the (unchangeable) ways your body sucks. My mom dieted a lot. She looked in the mirror and sighed, but she never turned a critical eye on my body. She never gave me “helpful” advice about weight loss and she never said, “If you eat that, you’ll get fat,” and, because of that, I think it was easier for my sister and me to grow out of that self-loathing that was just a product of our culture and not really who we were. I don’t like that culture. And, yes, I said “grow out of that” because I think it really is a maturity issue. There is nothing more immature than focusing on the outside when the inside is where the truth of Everything is. The inside is where the worthwhile work is and we can’t work on that when we’re distracted by the outside bits.

The other day, Lena (11) asked me how much she weighed and I threw a little bit of a hissy fit, telling her that she weighs as much as she’s supposed to weigh, and that weight is just a number and the same number on one person will look different on another person, and it’s also just a way for women to compete with each other. Women (and girls) step on the scale in the morning and use that number to make or break their day when it doesn’t mean anything. Every body is different. She was like, “Uh…A simple ‘I don’t know’ would do, crazy lady.’” Ahem.

I can remember being just about Lena’s age when I realized that I weighed more than my friends. It had never occurred to me before, but everybody was talking about it and it was…what was it? I was going to type “devastating,” but it wasn’t that. It was…odd. It was kind of like, “Oh, ok. I’m heavier. I guess that sucks?” And then I played that role with the sighing and the, “Ohmigod, my legs are huge!” But I was grateful for my powerful legs that helped me be super awesome at sporty things and stuff. I was supposed to think I was gross, but I was glad to be strong. Again, I think I was able to focus on strength because that was important at home. Nobody at home was telling me I was fat or warning me I was going to get fat someday or restricting my food intake, not even in a passive-aggressive-eyebrows-raised kind of way. Thanks, Mom.

Way back when my sister had her first daughter in 1993, she and I made a commitment to never let that little girl hear us talking bad about our bodies. No looking in the mirror with disgust, no “If I eat that, I’ll get fat,” nothing. That commitment lead to the eventual realization that I just don’t care how big or small my parts are, but I feel like I have to fulfill this womanly duty of talking as if I do when I’m around women who do that. So I don’t do that anymore. Fat talk is for babies. I love fat babies and I’ll talk all day about yummy fat baby rolls, but if you say, “Ugh, if I eat that, I’m going to have to work it off,” I will roll my eyes and walk away. I might have a good body image, but I’m still pretty bitchy.

So, if you’re a lady type*, who grew up with the lady culture of fat talk and you feel like you’re gross, I’m going to promise you that you’re not gross and you don’t have to talk like you are just to make other ladies more comfortable. And you deserve to eat good food. So let’s all go read Eleven Body Image Practices to Pitch in 2011 and throw away those negative body image things we do. Because our daughters are watching us. And if you’re struggling with feeding your children, go ahead and check out Family Feeding Dynamics while you’re at it. Go ahead. You’ll thank me for it.

*Maybe you’re a guy type, but you still struggle with body image. I don’t know what it’s like growing up with so much testosterone that I could punch a wall, but I know that everybody could benefit from loving themselves just a little bit more.

I’ve been buying alcohol legally for 14 years, but I used a fake ID for 4 years. Fourteen is quite a lot longer than 4, yet every single time I buy myself some beers to drink on my patio, my heart pounds and I get an adrenaline rush just like when I used that fake ID. It was a perfect ID, too. An actual ID that belonged to someone who looked like me. Back in those days, if you found an over-21 person who looked a little bit like you, you could say, “Hey, I’ll pay for your new license if you give me your old license,” and (if they were in love with your older brother) they would say, “That sounds like an excellent plan! I’ve been wanting to spend some time at the Secretary of State’s office! Super!” And the person with poor taste in boys could just take another form of ID (just one!) and say, “Uh, I lost my license,” and they would make her a new one lickity-split! Win/Mother effin’ WIN. These days, though, thanks to 9/11 and, uh, reality teevee, I bet the kids can’t do that anymore. Score one for being old!

That ID was awesome. It was only questioned one time and that was in a Chesaning gas station, where the clerk looked at the ID, looked at me, and said, “I went to school with that girl, and you ain’t her.” Luckily, I had cat-like reflexes and I grabbed the ID real quick and snarled, “What. Ever. You’re, like, 30 years old! Ugh!” And then I ran away. To the gas station next door. I didn’t care, because Boone’s Farm was 3 for $5 everywhere, so I didn’t need that stupid gas station!

What is my point? Body memory. Yes, that’s it. I think it’s interesting that my body remembers, “Hey, we’re buying beer. Let’s be scared!” I would think that the eyeballs would tell the heart, “Dude, it’s not Boone’s Farm and Busch Light, so I think we’re legal now.” So when I talked about Spring being stupid last month, and didn’t want to cut myself some slack, that was dumb. So the slack has been cut now. I get it. And when I forget, I’ll buy myself some beers in order to remember. Win/Mother effin’ WIN again!

Things I’ve been enjoying the heck out of lately:

• Season 3 of Big Love
• Making beans in the crockpot
• Secrets of Feeding a Healthy Family by Ellyn Satter (I don’t ever read books like that, but Dawn’s First Guest Blog Series Ever introduced me to Katja Rowell M.D. and the Satter book. Life changing, for real. Check it.)
• My kids wrapped my birthday presents in a Twilight movie bag, knowing that I would love to opportunity to deface and destroy it. (We all hate Twilight for its abusive relationship marketed to young girls as romance). Smart and funny kids=best birthday present ever.
• Saying “heck” whenever I can, affecting Bill Henrickson’s look of confusion and/or horror:

I love that Bill would say, “My gosh, just what in the heck do you think you’re doing?” even if he were witnessing a murder.

What are you enjoying right now? Let’s get reacquainted!

Here’s something fun that Dawn shared on the Twitter. I almost didn’t have time to watch it, but I did. Now I’m 1 hour, 5 minutes and 28 seconds behind on my day, but it was so worth it.

Watch CBS News Videos Online

I know this interview really has nothing to do with me, but I just want to tell you I thought it would be a great opportunity and lots of fun, but I was extremely nervous and actually wanted to back out a million times. The only reason I did it was so I could be an example to my kids. I am not one of those parents who has concrete goals for her children. All I want is for them to know themselves (so much good in life comes from just that one thing) and I want them to do things that challenge them. So I told them how scared I was and I told them I didn’t want to do it because I was so nervous, but that I was going to do it anyway because I knew it would be fun if I could just get past it. In the days leading up to the interview, the kids gave me encouragement and tips on chatting up celebrities. Lena suggested that I ask Katie and Kathryn what they like to do in their spare time. She said, “Celebrities like it when you ask about their real life instead of just their work,” which is a tip she learned when she met her very favorite voice actor at an anime conference a couple of months ago. I didn’t have a chance to ask that, but maybe next time.
P.S. Mom, my bit starts at about 17:50-something.

I always felt self-conscious grabbing handfuls of condoms with the nurse standing right there while I greedily stuffed them into my little brown paper sack. As if the nurse was all, “Is that how much sex you’re gonna have? And I’m supposed to believe you’re gonna use a condom every time? I know damn well you’ll be in here with The Clap next month.” It would have been better if it was like one of those game shows where you go into the booth and grab as much flying money as you can in a certain amount of time.

So if you miss me, you should check it out. It’s FREE!