Enough time has passed to where I feel as though I can tell this little story without feeling like I’ll be judged too badly for it. And, to be completely honest, I think it’s kind of funny.
So there I was last night, head over toilet, finger down the throat, pizza coming out (I hope that’s not too graphic) and my son was standing beside me watching. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I really didn’t think he would understand what was going on–just that mom was sick, espeically since he throws up on me all the time. But after a few minutes of watching , he leaned over the bathroom rug and started coughing and gagging, letting drool fall out of his mouth and then laughing. I looked over at him and laughed. And then he did it again. And then I laughed. And then he took a bite of the pizza that was in his hands, coughed, gagged and spit it on the floor. And then it wasn’t funny any more. So I stopped; most importantly, he stopped.
What I was doing was not a joke. In that moment I remembered that children learn through imitation. Over the past year it became really important to me that I provide a healthy examply of eating and exercising for my children. (I guess because I was so screwed up, I didn’t want to visit that upon my own offspring.) So those twinges of guilt and shame–they have strengthened my resolve. My resolve to make healthy choices, to cherish and appreciate my body, and to teach my children to do the same.
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