Squooshy

"Mommy, your tummy is fat," my son says as he hugs me and snuggles on me in the bed this morning. It is not an insult, just an observation about the body of a person he loves. "You're squooshy. I love to squoosh you."

I'm a little unsure how to deal with the F-word -- fat, I mean. This is the first time he has called me fat. I don't mind his saying my tummy is fat . . . because it is. He says it with the same love with which he says, "Daddy, you're bald." My husband is balding, technically, but I am, technically or otherwise, just plain fat. But my husband doesn't take offense. And I don't either.

At some point, we need to explain that most people don't like to be called fat, even lovingly . . . and that lots of times, if I'm perfectly honest, I don't either. But that will be his first lesson in fat phobia, and it's a lesson I don't want him to learn yet. At the same time, if he has to learn it, I'd rather he learn it from me so that I can teach him my values: 1) Fat is just another physical characteristic, 2) Bodies come in different shapes and sizes, and everyone is beautiful in his or her own way, 3) Anyone and everyone can try to be healthy, regardless of physical characteristics such as weight. 3) We don't say things that will hurt people's feelings.

How much sense does all that make, though? If fat is okay, why does being called fat hurt people's feelings? Similarly, if short is okay, why does being called short hurt people's feelings? If bald is okay, why does being called bald hurt people's feelings? Ah, for now, we'll have to keep it simple. Maybe, "It's not polite to make comments to people about their bodies."

Sigh. I like it that he says I'm squooshy. He says sometimes, "Mommy, you are so lovable." I like it that my son loves me as I am, that my softness is just another lovable part of me. One day he'll learn to look at me differently, but I love that, for now, he loves my squooshability.