It’s the worst thing a mother can see in a playground, her little girl running over with tears streaming down her face.
I thought she had fallen, or got into a little scrape, but the wound that cut her was a little deeper.
‘He called me a fat girl’.
Little tears rolled down my 4 year olds cheek. A boy, no more than 5, pushed her on the climbing bridge. She had moved out of his path as she seen him running over but he changed direction and they collided, right in the middle. He started taunted her with ‘fat girl fat girl’ as he pushed her out the way and slid off down the slide.
She was distraught. Not about being pushed or bumped into by the older boys. She’s pretty good at holding her own. But she couldn’t understand why someone could, or wanted to be so mean and call her such hurtful names. She is four. What kind of world do we live in now when I am consoling my 4 year old because an older kid called her fat. I want her to run with wild abandon and not care who’s watching. I want her to feel comfortable in herself.
Each morning she tells me I look beautiful. How she loves my tummy lines and even when I haven’t as much as washed my face she’s kissing it and hugging me tight. I made her, all her perfect little fingers, her perfect button nose & those deep eyes. I want to protect her with everything I have in me & it terrifies me that I can’t do it forever. I want to tell her how perfect she is, how amazing her life is going to be and when she grows up she won’t even remember those mean boys.