It comes as no surprise to many of you that I bitch about my weight. Often and loudly. I guess if I spent more time working out instead of complaining I might have less to whine about, but that’s not the point of today’s blog.

A friend of mine, who tends to hear my whine about my dieting woes more than others, sent me a link to a promo for a documentary called Thin. This documentary follows a group of women at a treatment house for eating disorders. Some of these women weighed 85 pounds. All of them worried about gaining weight.

I’ve always had a love hate relationship with food. I love love love to eat. Some people eat to live, I live to eat. And then I feel guilty. And I make promises to myself about how I’ll work out more and watch what I eat, blah blah blah. Is this a healthy attitude? Probably not. BUT it’s no where near as bad as the little preview I saw.

I have to say, I was seriously disturbed and down right scared. How easy would it be to foist my bad attitude about food off on my girls? I hear so much about childhood obesity, but in a way this is much worse. I try to be careful about what I say so I don’t make my girls neurotic, but now I’m going to be even more careful. Some of these girls started dieting at 11 or 12. My oldest is 9.

When are we as a society going to accept and even celebrate women of all shapes and sizes? When are we going to stop putting unrealistic body images only 2 % of the women in the world can meet on a pedestal as the beauty standard?

I was just whining about wanting to lose 25 pounds (again, sigh) and wanting liposuction. I think maybe I’m going to embrace my pot belly and celebrate the fact that I’m pretty darn healthy just as I am. That may not make me look good in a slinky dress, but honestly, it’s better than the alternative.

Today was my oldest daughter’s 9th birthday. Tomorrow night she’s going to her first concert, the Cheetah Girls (with parental supervision, of course). This morning she walked to school unescorted for the first time. I watched her the entire way, my heart in my throat. I could watch her because the school is all of two yards away. I was still a tad nervous.

My husband insists I’m being ridiculous, but it made me nervous to let her walk out that door without me.

I think when we send our books out into the world, it’s the same feeling. These are our babies who we’ve nurtured and wept over and now they’re out there on their own, waiting for someone to either love them or hate them.

Have I mentioned I’m not real good at letting go?

Spitfire makes its print debut today. I love that book. LOVE that book. It’s gotten great reviews and a lot of positive feedback, but now it’s going into stores. Will it languish on the shelves, unloved and lonely while all it’s little shelf mates go to good homes? Will someone buy it and hate it so much they throw it against a wall? Or will it go to a good home on someone’s keeper shelf?

I guess once you’re a mother, be it books or children, you can never stop worrying, you can only trust that you’ve done the best you can and hope for as little damage as possible.

And I thought labor was tough 9 years ago. . .