Wash That Gal Right Outta My Hair

There were a lot of different ways I could have chosen to start off this post. I could have started off by admitting once again that yes, I was aware that there was an obesity epidemic amongst our youth and that yes, I absolutely positively was guilty of not giving Jenny a 100% balanced healthy meal each and every day. I could also go back to the post where I wrote about Facebook, how there were good things and bad things about being a part of a social networking site. Or I could take us all back to the posts we know and love, about how as moms we get judged from the very moment a bit of belly starts to poke out (ok, this is actually true of just about anybody). Or I could tell a story about my first truly professional haircut, almost 12 years ago now, how I walked into a salon and was handed a glass of wine and breathed in the smell of Bed Head products and thought I might actually die of happiness.

Some parents gracefully accept it with humor – your child, beautiful in your eyes, is not perfect. They may be smart, they may be funny, they may be able to curl their tongue and know their colors and enjoy singing questions to you instead of simply asking them, but they are far from perfect. Some parents turn a blind eye to their child’s imperfections, refusing to see, or even acknowledge, that what makes them less-than-perfect also makes them them. Who would want a perfect kid? That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone. I already worry about how many times a day I tell Jelly I’m proud of her for being so damn awesome. I don’t want her to crack under all that pressure of being so freaking cool. It’s why I also once in a while call her dopey when she does something stupid, just to make sure she can laugh at herself and relax (but OMG my dad got soooooooooo mad at me when he heard me say it).

I know that Jellybean is stubborn. I can quite clearly see that she is easily frustrated, and a people pleaser, and at times, quite moody. When she gets her mind made up about something, that is it. She was a chunky baby, a chubby toddler, and only now as an active preschooler is beginning to lose the baby fat and slim down.

However.

You do not.

Tell me my baby is fat.

In a Facebook message.

Ok, you may be struggling a bit to keep up. Let me give you a little background.

Years and years ago, I went to Great Clips. Sad, I know, right? It’s ok, shh, the story gets happier. Well, a little happier. At least I make better hair choices now. When I finally got a job that didn’t pay me in kitty litter and toupee glue coupons, I was introduced to the wonder of the professional salon. Glittering, fast-talking, slick-magazined. It was glorious. My stylist had her scissors sharpened by someone who had apprenticed in Europe. With a Scissorsmith. No, seriously. That’s why it cost $10 per strand of hair. And the color! Omg, the color. She would individually mix 147 different shimmering shades that would catch the light when I shook my head in slow-motion. But little by little, over the years, the appeal, much like my highlights, began to fade. Now that I had Jellybean I didn’t have the time to spend 6 hours of my day in a chair. I didn’t have extra cars to sell for a simple trim. I didn’t want to hear about Loud and Quiet, customers referred from me that she had kept despite my protests (well, fair enough, tough economy and all), but customers I definitely did not want to discuss.

So I started to sneak around behind her back. It started with a little over-the-counter Feria here and there (look, I love a multi-faceted shine, what can I say?), some bang-trimming at home. But then she saw pics online and I definitely had shorter hair, and she knew something was up. She totally called me out. I was honest with her, mostly. I told her I had tried out someone new and cheaper. There was no way I was going to tell her that I was sick of hearing about her cats, and that the last few cuts were actually pretty disappointing. We had a history. Yes, I was a paying customer, but after such a long time it becomes awkward. She would say ‘I love you’ on the phone. I don’t need that. I say that to 4-5 people, tops, and yes, one of them is ribeye steak but the others are all family members. One may be an alcoholic beverage, but you get the point.

So my ex-stylist-only-she-hadn’t-really-accepted-it-yet was getting more and more pissy each time we corresponded, which was mostly in little comments she left on my Facebook wall. And they were more and more frequently some criticism about my parenting. Let’s keep in mind a few things here; firstly, that Ex-Stylist is not a parent. Secondly, the last time she saw Jelly was at least a year ago. Thirdly, she fancies herself a nutritionist for some reason (don’t ask). Fourthly, I can’t remember what I was going to say. Oh, right, that when I post a pic of Jellybean eating dinner, it’s not usually because she’s eating something boring or the norm or whatever, it’s because it’s hilarious and a good photo op and I think it’ll embarrass her later in life. So. Ahem.

What sparked the latest drama was a comment I made about cooking up some chili and tortillas. Ex-stylist remarked, ‘What kind of veggies are you doing?’, and apparently did not like my reply (standard tomatoes, onions, garlic) because she then commented, ‘Get some veggies in that kid!’. So a few nights ago, when I made Thai Drunken Noodles (chock-a-block full of nice veggies), I took a picture solely for her and posted it. Her comment? ‘I can sort of see them thru all those carbs’. My own fault, really, I know. At least I had the sense not to rise to it. I just calmly blinked twice and unfriended her. Before I did that, I sat very still for a few minutes thinking about whether or not I was still getting anything out of the friendship, whether I thought I would regret my decision/action, whether I thought it would hurt anyone else (another mutual friend of ours), and what the adult thing was to do. Then clicked. I knew instantly I’d made the right decision because I got the following almost instantaneously in a new Friend Request from her;

I'm sorry that you have de-friended me. All of the pics you post are of her eating unhealthly food. I am your friend and am looking out for YOUR child. You can be mad at me....that's fine...I care about you and Jenny. I have no personal gain for this. Stop sticking your head in the sand. She is CLEARLY overweight!

I know the statistics. I know that a fat mom more often than not means a fat kid. But I also know that eating a family meal, prepared together and eaten at a dinner table at the same time every day, with pleasant conversation about the day’s events, gives us a good check mark. She may not like a lot of veggies, but she’ll eat the hell out of any fruit put in front of her. Check. She eats breakfast every single day, usually an egg and/or toast, milk or diluted juice, or a whole-grain breakfast bar. Check. She gets a protein, a grain, a serving of veggies, and milk each day at lunch at the sitters. Check. I’m not big on sweets, so the poor thing never gets dessert or cookies or anything – I just don’t think about it. I snack when she naps, so that’s one less unhealthy habit. I’ll see what my pediatrician says at her three-year check up, but until then I refuse to freak out about it. I really don’t think my head is up my butt or in the sand or anywhere else. Do you freak out about your child being overweight? I know I have a good friend who freaks out 98% of the day about her child being underweight, and I think that is a billion times worse.

What makes me mad is that she thinks I’m a bad mom, and it makes me want to defend myself. I lay in bed that night formulating different responses that I would have written back to her if I were 10 (heck, 5) years younger and less mature, but they all ended with me shrieking BITCH!! STUPID BITCH!!! FUCCCKKKKKK!!!!!! So they weren’t very effective arguments. I know we don’t always eat great, but I do know that a really good portion (see? Food joke there, keepin’ it light after dropping the f-bomb) of the time I at least feed HER really, really well. She’s active, and healthy, and we do lots of running and jumping (much to my chagrin), and I try to model that lifestyle even if I haven’t lived it in the past. Screw her and her stupid cats. Jealous cow says meow.

Also, if you agree with her, please don't tell me. Because I'll cry.