I grew up in an extremely fat-phobic family. That's not to say that I didn't have good and loving parents, because I did. My mother had me as a "bonus baby" when she was 42 years old, and worked hard to lose the weight afterward. She did, and I always thought she looked great. I think, however, that she wanted to be the same sized women she was after she had her first round of children in her early 20s. Not the most realistic wish unless you happen to be willing to undergo quite a bit of plastic surgery. Quite frankly, I think she still looks pretty damn good, even now, in her 70s. My father was a fitness fanatic. Fueled by a very valid concern of heart disease after his father passed away, he took up marathon running, and SCUBA diving in his early 40s. He still goes to the YMCA to work out five days a week.
Now, don't get me wrong, I have absolutely NO problem with attempting to live a healthy lifestyle. I often refer to myself jokingly as a hippie-tree-hugger. My husband is a vegetarian, and nine meals out of ten, I am too. I actually *gasp!*
like fruit and veggies. They are one of the few food groups that I crave when I'm pregnant. I love almost all forms of dance, and yoga. However, for someone built roughly like a fantastical dwarf minus the facial hair, this all pervasive attitude that being thin is only way to be attractive or healthy certainly shaped the way I felt about my body.
