I've told her I wish I was as thin as her, I've mentioned that I love having visible rib cage and hip bones, that I want to loose weight, that I occasionally starve myself and that I wish I had her thigh gap.
Living in ignorance must obviously work for her because she hasn't done too much about it and I don't think she really cares.
I still find it quite uncomfortable talking to her about body shape and weight gain/loss and diet and exercise because she is always very critical, one minded and will often downplay her own physique which I starved myself to get and still was unable to attain. (Turns out I got my body shape from dad's side of the family. Oops.)
But I am trying, and I guess that has to count for something.
One day I'll have kids and love the idea of a mumma's body. One with more cushioning, curves and comfort. One that says "I'm a proud mum, and I look after my family well."
One day, bones won't matter.
Size won't matter.
Weight won't matter.
Double chins, collarbones, muffin tops, they'll all be unimportant and trivial.
A minuscule dot in the fabric of my existence. A memory of harder times past.
And maybe, when that day comes, I'll be truly happy.
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